


Outside Chance

by katnissdoesnotfollowback (lost_on_cloud_9)



Series: Outside Chance [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gale is a jerk here so if that’s not your thing...., I am over tagging here but it’s all in the name of happy readers, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Emotional Abuse, Mentions of verbal abuse, Minor Character Death, Paralympics, Winter Olympics, a healthy helping of angst, biathlon katniss, but i keep having to add tags, i swear there's a happy ending in here somewhere, implied racism, mentions of child abuse, mentions of domestic abuse, not very subtle implications tho, snowboarding peeta, so much misunderstandings just talk to each other people, vague descriptions of a severe injury, vague hints at sexual abuse, who's ready for the ride?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-03-24 20:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 182,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13818417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_on_cloud_9/pseuds/katnissdoesnotfollowback
Summary: Katniss has a shot at doing something no one else has done -- bringing home an Olympic medal to the USA in the winter biathlon. But it's only a slim chance. When her training falls below expectations, her coach orders her to find her heart and the will to compete rather than focusing on the precision that's gotten her this far.





	1. A Lack of Passion

**Author's Note:**

> So someone invaded my tumblr inbox and asked what sport I thought Peeta would compete in in the Winter Olympics which set off a bunch of insanity for two weeks. I tried to resist and just enjoy the stories others wrote, and while it has been a total blast to discuss and read...the story called to me as they so often do. So here we go, my take on Winter Olympics Everlark. Don't ask me how long this thing is going to be or how often I'm going to update. It's a mystery. I'll do my best to get this one marked complete by the 18th of March -- the closing of the 2018 Paralympics. In the interest of speed, these chapters won't be beta read. I apologize now for my horrendous mistakes. I'll try to keep them to a minimum.
> 
> My thanks to Buttercupbadass for being a wonderful and enthusiastic sounding board! To savvyLark for being the cause of this mess. I'm still blaming you.

_“And that’s it folks. Katniss Everdeen takes the lead.”_

_“There’s no way anyone can catch her now.”_

_“Nope. That girl is a machine. Her rise in this sport has been nothing short of meteoric. Look at the technique! Her shooting is perfection. And her skiing! No energy is wasted. Every motion is aimed towards her goal and her goal is--”_

_“She’s done it! Katniss Everdeen wins and secures a spot for herself on the 2018 Team USA. The Girl on Fire is on her way to South Korea.”_

_“And there’s no celebration here, Caesar. Like I said, an absolute machine. I don’t think you can crack this girl.”_

_“But the real question, Claudius, is...can she do what no one else has done before her? Can she bring home a US medal in the Winter Olympics biathlon?”_

_“If anyone can, I believe that it’s this girl. Next year is the time. Korea is the place. And Katniss Everdeen is the person poised to make history.”_

_“Not so fast, Caesar. She’s got steep odds to beat. She’ll be facing many of these same competitors. And they will be out for vengeance.”_

* * *

 

“You wanna explain that garbage?” Haymitch snarls and I squint at the target. I don’t say a word, silently huffing in frustration as I set up to take another shot. Haymitch’s colorful swears fill the air when I miss by a fraction.

“Your swearing is not helping,” I tell him.

“Rapid fire. Now.”

“But--”

“Now!” Haymitch yells. I squeeze off three shots in quick succession. The targets turn over to reveal one hit, in the middle. Two misses. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“It’s an off day, Haymitch. I don’t have them that often.” I say and stand, slinging the rifle on my back with practiced ease.

“You’ve had two weeks of nothing but off days.”

I want to argue, I want to yell. But I can’t. He’s right. My shoulders stiffen and he orders me to the machine. I climb aboard and start my stroke. Smooth and easy. In sync with my breathing.

“You’re off your pace.”

I ignore his grumbling.

“You’re off your fucking pace... Goddamnit, Katniss!”

“Get up here and do it yourself, you old fuck!” I yell back. The machine beeps, indicating that I’ve hit my target speed and Haymitch’s eyes narrow. I huff the hair out of my face and keep going. It isn’t long before I’m lagging again and Haymitch is cursing me out.

“Get off,” Haymitch growls.

“No!” I say and push until my legs begin to ache.

“Get off before you injure yourself.” Haymitch cuts off the machine and I stand upright, panting as I stare at the back of his head. The gentle way he spoke this time confuses me. He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“Do you want this?”

“Of course I do,” I say, exasperated.

“I don’t believe that. You know what separates the champions from the rest of the field?”

“Precision,” I answer and he shakes his head.

“Passion.” I roll my eyes and Haymitch swears again. “See, there’s your problem. I can train a baboon and get him to hit the target every time. I can’t teach him to get up when someone has kicked him down. I can’t train him to want gold so bad he can taste it. I can’t train him to come back four, eight, twelve years later and do it again.”

“I’m here every day,” I remind him, crossing my arms to hide how heavily I’m breathing right now.

“You’re here,” he says, tapping a finger on my forehead. I resist the urge to shove his hand away from me and wait for his point. Then he drops his hand to point right above my heart. “Not here. Do you even remember why you started skiing? Shooting?”

“I’m not some human interest story.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The Olympics are a competition, yes. But they’re also a show. They want good stories. People want to watch someone who’s overcome insurmountable odds. Someone whose got no chance or maybe an outside chance of winning. People who steal their hearts and earn their loyalty. They want legacies and medal counts that make their eyes swim. You’ve got a chance at two medals, that’s it.”

“It’s never been done by an American, let alone a --”

“Leave race out of this for now and let the commentators do that, if they dare. You just focus on being ten times better than anyone else in that field.”

“I am,” I insist.

“Not the past two weeks, you haven’t been.” He motions towards the windows, indicating the many hills around Colorado Springs. “I could pluck a rookie off the trails out there and she’d do better than you’ve been doing. Because right now, you’ve got about as much passion in you as a dead slug.”

Ouch. I know they all call me a machine. My smiles are hard to come by, and I’m awful in interviews. But I still have feelings. I’m not a machine. Haymitch must know he’s pushed too far because his voice softens again.

“Go home, sweetheart. Go home and get your head on straight. Let me know when you’re ready for the Olympics.”

I storm out of the training area and down to the lockers. I’m so angry that tears are swimming in my eyes. I hold them back and gather my things, forgoing a shower in favor of returning straight to my apartment. Exactly like he said. Because I always listen to my coach.

Silence greets me as I stomp the snow from my boots and organize my gear. In the laundry room, I strip off my workout clothes and start a load. After a quick shower, I braid my hair and fix a protein packed lunch. I’ve just finished and am washing my dishes when Prim walks in.

“Hey ho, roomie!” She says cheerfully. “You’re home early.”

“Training didn’t go well,” I tell her as I stack my clean dishes up to dry.

“I heard,” she says and I spin around to face her as she shrugs out of her coat.

“You heard?”

“Haymitch called me at work. He thinks you need a break--”

“I don’t need a break.”

“--and I agree.”

“I don’t need a break!” I reiterate. Prim tilts her head as she looks at me, a soft wistful smile on her face.

“You know, at one of your first competitions, someone remarked that you skied like you had a horde of demons chasing you. I thought that was a pretty good analogy, but somewhere along the way, it’s like you outran them.”

“And now I’m better,” I say and she shakes her head.

“Sure Katniss.”

Later in the evening, as I sit watching tapes, searching for weaknesses in my competitors, Prim flops onto the couch next to me.

“I’m not taking a break,” I say before she can argue.

“I know,” Prim admits and I look away from the screen to see what’s gotten into her. She’s as stubborn as both me and our mother. Sometimes more, I think. She turns the screen of her laptop to face me and I stare at the items in her cart. “So how about a change of scenery?”

“I’m not going back there.”

“Yes you are, Katniss Everdeen. You’re going and you’re going to face that horde of demons.”

“This is the dumbest idea ever,” I mutter and put myself to bed.

It’s when I miss yet another shot and Haymitch throws his water bottle across the practice space while I tell him that I need to be outside in the snow and wind, not caged in this sterile training facility with my every move monitored and marked for progress that I realize the truth. My words die and Haymitch gives me his first real smile in weeks.

“I hate you. You and Prim,” I snarl. But I pack my bag anyways. I buy the tickets still languishing in Prim’s online cart. I nod when Haymitch promises to cover for me with the team and join me in a few weeks. I accept the “survival kit” Prim hands me before I leave. I board the damn plane and I squint down at the blinding snow capped mountains as we approach, the trees covered in a quilt of snow.

There’s a car waiting to take me to the familiar lodge. A valet to whisk my luggage away to my cabin, smiling when I cling to my favorite skis and refuse to let him touch them or my rifle in its case.

“Welcome home,” I whisper as though uttering the words will bring the demons out of the ground to consume me. They just might.


	2. A Surprise Visitor

_ “Can’t I ski up here with you?” she asks, voice soft and pleading. Barely above a whisper. _

_ “Not today. Today, I need your help,” he whispers back, kneeling in the snow. His skis shush and slide but he doesn’t lose his balance as he takes her small, mittened hand in his. “These kids have never skied before, and you’re a very good skier already. I need you in the back to help the stragglers. Can you do that for me, Hummingbird?” _

_ She looks up at the small crowd of rowdy kids, rolling in the snow and laughing. She thinks of the tiny wailing bundle back in their cabin with her mother. The red faced screams in the middle of the night. The lingering odors of dirty diapers, no matter how often her daddy emptied the diaper pail. Her mother’s tired face and patient humming to soothe the baby. If she doesn’t help her daddy out with his classes, she’ll have to go back to that cabin. _

_ “Okay, Daddy. I can help.” _

_ “Good,” he smiles fondly at her and she closes her eyes as he kisses her forehead. _

* * *

 

I tuck my poles beneath my arms, lowering my center of gravity. I lean slightly to the left, skis turning gracefully through the last curve. As soon as I reach the flat, I shift upright and dig in. I’m close to the end of my trail. Eight kilometers just below the crest on the backside of the range. I breathe and ski. Pushing until I reach the trailhead. As soon as I pass the sign marking the end of my loop, I glance at my watch, coasting blind as I stare at my time.

21:57

Not good enough. Not even close. That leaves me no time for shooting. It's the time of someone running with penalties.  


I skid to a halt and stare up at the sky in frustration. I’ve been here three days and haven’t seen any improvement. If anything, I’ve gotten worse. It’s like I’ve lost every edge I once owned. As I catch my breath, I review my schedule, looking for places to improve.

Wake up. Eat breakfast in my cabin. Weight training or aerobics on alternating days. Sprints indoors. Long distance ski. Lunch on the trails. Sprints up the incline trails alternating with shooting practice. A leisurely swim at the indoor pool. Dinner in my cabin. Assessing the competition. Sleep. Repeat.

All I can think of is that Haymitch isn’t here to curse at me and keep me focused. I’m beating my brains against a wall of memory. Last night I dreamt in monochrome, about my father. I credit that for my lack of progress.

Opening my eyes, I stare at the cloudless expanse above me, tinted purple through my protective glasses. I need to move on to the next part of my training.

A noise catches my attention and I turn my head in time to catch a golden eagle flapping its wings and soaring out over the valley before tucking into a dive. Graceful and flawless. Perfect.

My eyes burn and my heart pounds. I can’t even blame the elevation since Colorado Springs sits at almost the same one. Turning my skis, I glide towards the rock where I’ve been eating lunch the past few days. I keep my back to the valley.

The rest of the day proves just as lackluster. As I stare into my tiny pantry, trying to decide if I’m up to searing salmon for dinner, I feel as though everything is beginning to collapse. I slam the door and sniff a little as I shove my arms in my coat. While I’m tugging on my beanie and mittens, I spot the picture of me with my Dad.

Prim’s survival kit turned out to be a loaded box of dynamite. Might as well have been. She filled it with padded envelopes, each with a number on it and instructions to open them in numerical order. One each time I felt like giving in or returning to Colorado. Curiosity won out and I opened the first envelope, only to find that Prim meant it when she said she thought I needed to face my demons.

I stare at my Dad’s smiling face. My toothy grin as I twist my legs to keep from smacking him in the face with my skis as I perch on his shoulders. Shaking my head, I leave my cabin and make the trek to the main lodge.

Prim is wrong. I haven’t opened another one of her stupid envelopes since.

As always, there’s a line for the main restaurant. Elk’s Call never fails to draw a crowd. The owners of the lodge employed one of the best chef’s in the country. He cooked, and people would answer the call.

“Your room number please?” The hostess asks as I approach the stand.

“Cabin 24,” I tell her and she smiles, referencing her tablet. For a moment, her eyes widen in surprise, but she grabs a menu and motions towards the dining room.

“Oh! I see you have a reservation. Right this way, Miss Everdeen.”

Dread fills me as I follow her. I glance nervously behind me at the crowd still waiting for their table. I should have known someone would figure out who I was or that I was here. Even registering under my mother’s maiden name didn’t afford me the kind of anonymity I was hoping for here.

The hostess places the menu on the table and pulls the chair out for me. “Your server will be right with you.”

“Thank you,” I murmur and drape my coat over the back of the chair. I keep my back to the wall and hide behind the tall leather menu. Even when the server approaches, a young girl I don’t recognize, I don’t let my guard down. She brings water and then a basket of the house rolls, oozing cheese and I glare at the damn things. It’s all a carefully orchestrated trap and I’m busy wondering which one will be springing it when a tall, stern looking woman steps up to my table and sweeps away the second chair without a word spoken to me.

_ Oh god no _ , I think, but then I relax instantly at the wrinkled face and twinkling blue eyes peering at me over my menu. The bushy eyebrows and shock of thick, gray hair.

“Do you really need that, my dear? I always knew you to be so certain of what your palate craved.” The thick, Norwegian accent courses through me and I reluctantly melt into my chair. Even after all these years of living in America, he never let his accent fade. I lower my menu and hesitantly return his smile. Lips only, no teeth.

“I was hoping no one would recognize me,” I admit as I set the menu aside.

“Well then I will pretend this conversation never happened.” He sets his hands on the table and leans towards me. “I hope you do not mind an old man interrupting your meal.”

“I might, if you were any other old man,” I say and he chuckles.

“I am glad to see that you have not lost your spirit, Katniss. We have missed you around here.”

I tug on my braid and gain a deep interest in my flatware. “I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Tjaland. But I'm here to train.”

“What is this ‘mister’ nonsense? You used to call me another name.” Eirik. Gramps. Bestefar.

“That was a long time ago.” The silence stretches between us until I manage to look back up at him. 

“How is Primrose?”

I’m so grateful for the change in topic that I tell him. I tell him all about Prim and her crazy orange cat and our life in Colorado, her school and her classes in physiotherapy.

“Good knowledge to have with a sister competing as a highly skilled athlete,” he murmurs as I tear into my third cheese roll. The server hasn’t returned to take my order yet, and I somehow know that it’s all Eirik’s fault. Just like the reserved table was probably his doing. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d left an order with the hostess to notify him if I ever wandered into the restaurant. “And Haymitch?”

“As ornery as ever,” I say and Eirik chuckles. “He’s actually part of the reason I’m here.”

“Hmmmm. So you are headed to the Olympics,” he says and fixes me with a penetrating stare. I swallow my bite of roll and shrug.

“Got any tips for a first timer?”

“You don’t need this old man’s advice. I’m sure it has changed a great deal in fifty-four years. But if you are feeling lost, you have family who will be there for you. You know this, yes Katniss?”

I can feel my cheeks heating at the slight rebuke. The reminder that I’ve seen them here and there. The world of competitive skiing isn’t that big, but since they compete in different events from me, I’ve generally been able to avoid any direct contact.

He’s asked me about my family but I can’t return the favor, not even with the wide opening he’s given me. I hope he understands. Sadness creeps into his eyes and he nods, unfolding his hands to motion the server back over to our table.

“I believe the lady is ready to order.” He turns his chair, waving off the assistance of the stern looking woman who has swooped in out of nowhere. He pauses to look back at me and smile one last time. “The smoked salmon almondaise has been quite good lately. And the Hummingbird Trail has been groomed to perfection, I am told.”

I manage to order the salmon and make it until he’s disappeared from my sight before I bury my face in my hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I've left you with more questions than answers. We'll get them all answered soon. In the meantime, the lodge we're at is a fictional one but is inspired by the Jackson Hole, Wyoming area in the Grand Tetons.


	3. A Broken Ski

_“Two hot chocolates, please,” he says as he leans his skis against the cafe counter. Reaching down, he hoists her onto one of the high stools._

_“How are the trails today, Mr. E?” the boy working the counter asks._

_“Not too bad. Hopefully your shift ends early enough to enjoy them.”_

_“I’ve been trying to shave thirty seconds off my 10k time. I’m close, real close. If I manage it, Gramps says we’ll make that trip to Salt Lake so I can practice my jumps in the summer, too.”_

_“That’s great.”_

_Katniss loses interest in the conversation and glances at the boy sitting in the stool right next to her. His blue eyes grow wide and round and he hunches back over the papers on the counter in front of him. They’ve never really talked before but she knows who he is. She cranes her neck to look at the pages in front of him._

_“Whatcha doing?” she asks quietly, but she knows Peeta heard her because his eyes flick over to her then to his brother. “They can talk skiing for forever, you know.”_

_“I know,” he says._

_“So what are you doing?”_

_“Coloring,” he says and then shows her his work. He’s very good. Inside the lines and everything._

_“Do you have an extra page?” He slides one across the counter to her and she settles in the chair. It has a hummingbird on it and she smiles._

_“What colors do you want?” he asks. She points to the green and the purple to start with. They color in silence while her father talks to his brother. When it arrives, she sips her hot chocolate. She nudges it in front of Peeta, offering him a sip too. Since he shared his crayons with her. He thanks her and takes two quick, small sips before handing it back._

_“Graham! Mr. Everdeen has classes to teach and you have customers to serve.” Katniss looks towards the register where no one waits and scowls. She doesn’t like Mrs. Mellark, even though her dad tells her she has to be polite to the owner’s daughter and slopes manager._

_“Peeta. Back upstairs.”_

_“Do I have to?” he asks, twirling the crayon in his fingers. “Graham said he’d take me skiing later.”_

_“Young man--”_

_“You could come help us with the next class,” Katniss says, without thinking. She doesn’t notice the sharp intake of Mrs. Mellark, or the stricken look on her father’s face. All she notices is the way Peeta’s eyes brighten at the idea._

_“Can I go ski with Katniss and Mr. Everdeen, Mom?” he asks._

_“Of course you can,” Mr. Tjaland walks up behind them and ruffles Peeta’s hair. He winks at Katniss and she giggles. She does like Peeta’s grandpa. He seems nice. “Make sure you wear your mittens. It is getting cold out there. Agnes, you wanted to discuss the lift upgrades--”_

_Katniss and Peeta don’t wait, scurrying to clean up their coloring pages and stuff everything in Peeta’s pack. He struggles to zip up his coat as they hurry to follow her father outside. Katniss holds his skis for him so he can finish. He smiles at her as she hands them back._

* * *

 

The target remains black and I fight to stay focused. My heart rate is already high from my sprints and the last thing I need is to let anger get in the way of my shooting. I am ice. I am a machine.

I am missing way too many shots.

When the fifth circle remains black, I rest my forehead in the crook of my elbow. I’ve managed to get my long distance times back down to an acceptable range. Not within the level I need to be competitive at the Olympics, but not horrendous either. I can do this. It’s what I’ve been working and training for years to do. This is just a slump. Every athlete has them.

I force myself to stand and enter my next sprint leg. I’m not paying enough attention though, because my ski catches on a root and I twist, falling back on my rear. My eyes sting, but I refuse to cry. I won’t crack. They’re all waiting for it. The press, my competitors, even some of my teammates. How am I supposed to think of them as my team when I’m competing against them too?

Instead, I inspect my ankle and then my ski. It appears to be fine so I continue. Keep pushing.

It’s two days later as I’m working my way up an incline that I know something is wrong. Sure enough, when I pause at the crest of the hill, I find a hairline fracture in my right ski. It’s my spare pair, but I can’t afford to not have my equipment in perfect working order, even my backups.

It takes me until after dinner to work up the courage. Even then, I take my time. I pause along The Wall, chewing on my lip and trying not to drown in the avalanche of memories. A few employees pass by me as I pretend to peruse the pictures, but they don’t question my presence. Eirik must have spread the word, as I knew he would. I’m still family here. That more than anything brings me the closest to tears I’ve been all week.

The closer I get, the louder the music is. Wild guitars and steady beats, electronic thumps and throaty vocals. I’m still holding out hope, but as I turn the last corner and enter The Locker, I know that my luck has run out.

Peeta bends over a snowboard held in brackets, buffing the underside. I could come back later, when someone else is working here, but I think of Eirik’s kindness and Prim’s belief that I need to face my demons. I’m doing so horribly with my training anyways, I figure I can’t get much worse. Might as well just go ahead and summon the biggest demon of them all. Besides, I need my ski repaired or replaced.

I cross my arms, hugging my skis into my side and wait for him to notice me. Take the chance while he’s absorbed in his work to examine him. He looks good. Really good. Of course, the last time I saw him, he was still a fifteen year old boy in braces and wild curls, whose hands and feet were almost too large for him to handle, although his shoulders were always broad. His hair falls over his forehead in ashy blond waves, his sleeves pushed up just below his elbows. His movements sure and practiced.

When he finally looks up at me, a thousand moments surge through me and I nearly break right then. I’d know his eyes anywhere, even if hundreds of years separated us rather than just ten.

Without looking away from me, he reaches for his phone on the workbench and pauses the music. The silence is deafening and before he can say anything, I swing my skis up parallel to the ground and walk towards him.

“I cracked a ski,” I say. He lifts one eyebrow but takes the skis from me without a word. It only takes him a moment to find the fracture. He hums and I shift on my feet. “So?”

“These your primaries?” he asks as he bends the ski further, testing the fracture.

“No, but I still don’t want them split open.”

“You’re lucky you caught this in time. Could have been bad if you’d split it wide open on one of the trails.”

“Why? It’s not like I’m doing something as dangerous as downhill or jumps,” I say. His jaw ticks. He’s angry. Well that makes two of us, I think as I cross my arms again.

“Maybe not, but you really wanna get stuck five clicks from the lodge with only one ski?”

“Can’t be too hard. I know plenty of thick skulled snowboarders. They manage.”

For the first time since I handed him my skis, his eyes meet mine. And even though age hasn’t changed his eyes, I have no idea what he’s thinking right now. If he’s holding back as much hurt and anger as I am. Once, a long time ago, I would have known what he was thinking. And despite everything, I still find myself leaning towards him. Gone is the boy I once knew, and in his place is someone far more dangerous to me.

“Give me a day or two and I can have something ready for you. In the meantime, you’ll just have to use your primaries or your third backups,” he says and turns away from me. It annoys me that he knows how many skiis I have with me at all times. He tosses my skis on the workbench and returns to the snowboard. I struggle to find my footing and fixate on the board. Skulls cover the surface, black roses clenched in their teeth. Bright colors painted around the hollow eyes. It’s morbid, intimidating, and beautiful all at once.

“Is that yours?” I ask, not wanting to leave just yet. I can’t explain why. I have every reason to want to run. Isn’t that what I did ten years ago?

“No, not mine,” he says and I take a good look around The Locker. There’s a logo I don’t remember painted on the front wall, several rows of shelves with components neatly organized and ready to go. Tools scattered on another work bench and a dusty laptop with an open spreadsheet. No, not a spreadsheet, I realize as I step closer. An order form and invoice.

“You make custom boards and skis?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I just didn’t realize you were selling them, too. I thought…” I trail off and he glances back at me.

“You thought it was just another one of my useless hobbies.” I search for something else to say and Peeta shakes his head. “I’ll let you know when your skis are ready, Katniss.”

He turns the music back on, shows me his back as he bends over the board, dismissing me. And then I do break. My face contorts in a silent scream and my fingers curl, itching to throttle him. When the moment of fury passes, I walk out of there with my head held high.

But my righteous anger only lasts until I’m at the edge of The Wall. I pause before I return to the main part of the lodge to gather myself and then I make another stupid mistake. I look up, my eyes drawn straight to the picture of two kids. He’s standing on a snowboard, a medal hanging around his neck, knees bent and arms stretched out like he’s still zipping down a hill. She’s standing in front of him, snow crusted on her boots, a pair of skis and poles forgotten beside her. Her arms stretched out the same as his as they lean and sway in harmony, looking off to the horizon and their lofty goals, the cords of shared headphones dangling between them. Joyous smiles on their faces. Completely naive and unaware of the future that waits for them.


	4. A Double-Edged Gift

_“What do you think?”_

_“You’re over-rotating. Almost a half turn.”_

_“Think I could get another one in?”_

_“Maybe,” she says as she squints up at the sky. The weather is supposed to turn soon and they still haven’t gone down the trail like he said they would. They’ve been at the half pipe all morning. She can ski down the slight incline at the top edge of the pipe to meet him then sprint back up the hill for his next run, but it’s not the workout she was hoping for. He looks uncertain, and she doesn't like that either. “Just do it. I’ll bet you could. 720, right?”_

_“Okay, one more run and then we’ll hit the crest trail,” he says and shifts his feet, making the snowboard slide back and forth in the packed powder._

_“You promise?”_

_“Yeah!” he says and turns to head back to the top of the new half-pipe Gramps had installed over the summer. All because Peeta had taken a liking to snowboarding more than skiing. It drove Mrs. Mellark insane, but Gramps didn’t care so long as it made Peeta happy. Already, the addition has drawn more visitors and Gramps has started talking about adding another dozen cabins and an annex to the lodge._

_“Wait!” Katniss shouts, stopping Peeta before he goes. He glances back at her as she digs his iPod out of his coat pocket, brushing snow off and handing him one earbud. He grins and pops the left one in while she puts in the right and hits play. They both jump as the music blares, and Katniss quickly turns it down a little._

_They bounce and sway, their arms swinging in time with the music. She sings the chorus and the dance grows wild until Peeta’s cheeks are pink and his fist pumps the air. She laughs and tugs the ear bud out of his ear._

_“Go get it!” she says as he leans back and takes off. She holds her breath as he dips out of her sight then zooms back up, launching into the air, grabbing his board and extending. Method Man, she thinks he called the trick. She’s still learning all the names._

_Down again and then into the air as he spins. One. Two. He lands and she screams. The next time he comes up the pipe, he’s got both arms extended above his head, smiling at her in triumph. He almost forgets what he’s doing, quickly adjusting in the air so he doesn’t fall._

_“You did it!” She’s yelling over and over as she skis down the along the top of the pipe, meeting him at the base. Peeta throws his arms around her and she hugs him back. They sway together for a moment._

_Peeta flinches and Katniss scowls. He does it again and they let go, Peeta swatting at the tip of a crooked downhill racing pole that’s scratching at his neck._

_“Break it up, lovebirds.”_

_“Go away, Rye,” Peeta says and Ryen guffaws but skis away from them. Katniss flushes and Peeta rolls his shoulders before turning to smile at her. Her stomach swoops a little and she’s not sure why. But Peeta kicks off his board and walks next to her as they walk towards the lodge so he can switch to his skis and she can grab the lunch they packed with his dad’s help early that morning._

_As promised, they head off down her favorite trail. It’s a good thing it’s winter because their laughter and excited chatter would otherwise scare off all the wildlife._

_“You should do it,” Katniss says when he mentions that he’s thinking of entering a snowboarding competition. But Peeta shakes his head, looking out over the valley below them._

_“Mom won’t let me.”_

_“Pffft,” Katniss scoffs. “That’s because she hasn’t really watched you do it yet. One medal and she’ll go psycho trainer on you again.”_

_“She says snowboarding isn’t a real sport. It’s a useless hobby. Not like skiing. And why do you think I like it better?”_

_“What does she know anyways,” Katniss says. “Snowboarding is an Olympic sport now. That counts.”_

_“Maybe I will compete, if you think I should. But you’ve gotta do the biathlon race in November.”_

_“Maybe I will,” Katniss says and shrugs. Peeta skids to a stop and she does the same. He lifts his fists, still holding his poles and she grins._

_“Promise?” They bump both their fists together._

_“Promise.”_

* * *

 

“How is it?” Prim asks. I stir the honey into my tea and measure my words, eventually giving up and going for the truth.

“Weird,” I admit. I don’t know how to tell her how out of sorts I feel here.

“And...how’s the training going?” I rub my temple and think about my last few days. There’s a series of thumps outside my door, like someone stomping snow off their boots. I move to look out the curtains and watch as Peeta stands on my porch, lifts his fist to knock. He freezes and I hold my breath while we remain suspended. His fist drops and he leans a pair of wrapped skis against the outside of my cabin.

“Katniss?” Prim’s voice intrudes.

Peeta walks away and I exhale.

“I saw Eirik,” I tell her, and even I can hear the choked tears in my voice.

“Gramps? How is he?”

“In a wheelchair, and somehow still spry,” I tell her, thinking of the way he teased me last night when he stumbled across me as I left the weight room, tried to cajole me into meeting him for a chess game later.

“Aw, I miss him. What else?” Prim says. I watch as Peeta turns around one of the other cabins, gone from my field of vision. Prim waits for me to say more. I swallow the lump of disappointment in my throat and speak.

“And I ran into...Peeta, too.”

His name brings on a twinge of pain as I realize I haven’t said it out loud in nearly ten years. It’s been two days since I left my skis with him, since this dull ache resumed its residence in my chest.

“How’d that go?” Prim asks gently. She won’t know the extent of what happened ten years ago. She was still so young. Only eleven. And I never told her. All she’ll remember is that Peeta and I used to be friends. Good friends. And then we weren’t.

“Awkward. Awful.” Prim hums and I shake off the memories and the tears. “But it’s done with now. Demon dealt with, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Prim says. “Have you been using the survival kit?”

“I haven’t needed it,” I tell her. The truth is, I’m afraid to open anymore of those envelopes. Thankfully, she drops it and changes the subject. We talk while I sip my tea, and by the time it’s gone, Prim has to head to class. I set my mug in the sink and retrieve the skis from my porch. I set them on the couch and open the wrappings. The first thing I notice is that he painted them, even though I never asked for it.

A line of hummingbirds hovers in various poses of flight, shimmering in iridescent purples, greens, and blues. As I shift the skis, the shimmering paint gives the illusion that the birds are actually flying. I drop them and collapse on the floor, folding in on myself as I try not to hyperventilate.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

When I get myself somewhat under control, I notice the scrap of paper and pick it up, hoping it’ll make things better, or at least give me something to be angry over. Anger I know how to channel. I don’t know how to use grief to ski or shoot better.

_Thought about giving you flames, Girl on Fire. But I can never stop thinking of you as our Hummingbird. Hope that’s okay. I can get you something else if you’d rather. If not, let me know how they go. -Peeta_

It’s so stupid that this is what does it. What cracks me wide open after years of holding it all back, dammed up behind cool precision and automatic perfectionism. The rejection of the name some stupid commentator gave me and that I can’t seem to shake anymore in favor of the nickname my father gave me, the one that stuck for years only to get lost in one night.

The gift...it is the perfect weapon, tearing down the carefully constructed cogs of the person I have become, stripping me bare to the start of everything.

My hands yank the survival kit out from where I shoved it beneath the coffee table. I tear into it and rip open the next envelope, blindly tossing it aside because it’s not what I’m looking for. I know it’s in here. It has to be. Prim wouldn’t pack a box full of loaded memories for me to dredge up every last painful thing in my life without including it. I finally find it in envelope six. Sit catatonic as I stare at the sparkling beads. Green, purple, blue, they all blur together as I cry and hug the charm to my chest. All I have time to think before I lose myself in memory is that at least Prim had the presence of mind to wash it clean.

And isn’t this exactly what Haymitch wanted? I don’t stop it, instead crying at least ten years worth of grief as I rock myself on the floor of my cabin. Until I have no tears left. I miss him so much and I've never let myself acknowledge the gaping hole left in my life when he died. Too afraid that it would tear me to pieces and leave me irreparable.

I’m not sure how long I stay there. I’m stiff when I finally stand and drape the leather rope around my neck, tucking the hummingbird charm beneath my shirt. I press it into my chest, against my heart beat. And then it’s like they’re both there. Standing behind me with a song and the wind at my back.

“Just ski, Katniss,” I murmur. I change into my gear, grab the hummingbird skis, and head out towards the trails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear we're getting close to concrete answers. Stick with me a few more chapters. Katniss and Peeta are twelve in the flashback at the start of this chapter. When I've given you more details about their past, I'll provide a timeline in the notes. In the meantime, I'm keeping my secrets in the name of no spoilers, lol.


	5. A False Start

_She grips her poles and jiggles both knees nervously. Rolls her shoulders and worries at the weight of the rifle on her back. She's still getting used to it. Her dad had to take Prim to the bathroom, leaving Katniss and Peeta alone. She swallows as a girl glides by her, so graceful as she lines up for the start._

_“Hey.” Peeta draws her attention to him. She’s glad he’s here. “You okay?”_

_“No,” she admits pathetically. “There’s so many of them.”_

_“Yeah and they’re all gonna be eating your dust.”_

_“There’s no dust, Peeta. There’s snow.” She wrinkles her nose, trying not to smile as he shrugs._

_“So they eat your powder.” She does laugh then. “See? Just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”_

_“Stop. I’m trying to focus.”_

_“Here, I can help with that.” He pulls out his iPod and she looks around nervously, tries to protest as he slips the earbud on her first, then his. As soon as the music plays, Peeta starts dancing. Katniss feels her face heating._

_“Come on Katniss.”_

_“You look ridiculous.”_

_“Yep! And I guarantee that once you’ve got that trophy in your hands, they’re all gonna be doing the same thing next month.”_

_People are starting to stare and she cringes._

_“It’s easy Katniss. Just ski. You do it every day at home. Just ski.”_

_“Easy for you to say,” she mutters. His name’s already on the list of athletes to watch for those responsible for picking the team for Vancouver, although she thinks he’s good enough to go to Italy in a little over a year. Still, family legacy and his performances the past few months are difficult to ignore. She’ll be lucky if she gets picked to compete in juniors this year._

_He takes her hands in his and bends his knees low, makes a goofy face at her. She laughs again and goes with him, stiff at first but slowly loosening up enough to dance with him. Just like they do at home on their mountain. By the time the song ends, she’s forgotten her embarrassment, adjusts her glasses and thumps her fists against his._

_As she takes her place near the starting line, she presses one hand over her heart, feeling the beaded charm bite into her skin. Returning her grip to her pole, she focuses on the horizon. For a moment, the world freezes._

_Her eyes flick right for one distracted second. She finds him in the stands, next to her father and sister. His blue eyes are the last she sees before the gun starts the race. The first she sees right before he and her family engulf her in a hug at the end, celebrating her second place finish._

* * *

 

I left my stopwatch back at the cabin, and while I have my phone with me, I don’t bother with it. Instead, I just ski. Up through the hills, along the edge of the crest. Back down through the vales and dips in the trail. It feels good. No lap times or goals. No benchmarks to meet. Just me, the wind, the snow, and my skis. The way I started, with my father singing and teaching me the songs. Some in English, some in our ancestors’ tongue, all of them beautiful and secretive. I mumble the lyrics to a few as I ski.

Pausing at one point, I take in my surroundings, the first time I’ve really done this since I came back. The beauty of the crisp air and pristine snow over the mountains, the hush and the soft moan of the wind. Peeta’s gift made this possible. Yes, it brought up some painful memories, ones I’ve kept locked as far away from my heart and my sport as possible, but they’re a part of it anyways. They always have been. Of course, it would be Peeta who found a way to remind me, even if that wasn’t his intention. He’s so entwined with with every part of my sport that he might as well be my skis.

On my way back, I try to analyze why he’d do something like this. It contradicts everything I thought I knew about how we parted ways. I want answers, and Peeta’s the only one who can give them to me. And maybe, just maybe, if he can give me those answers too, we’ll find a way back to being friends again.

When I make it back to the lodge, my heart is pounding and I am completely winded. I’ll probably be laid up and unable to train at all tomorrow. I meant for today to be my day off, but I’ll just have to scrap that plan. As I point my skis inwards and slow to a halt, I find him talking with a group of guys just outside the main building. Using the tips of my poles, I release my skis and gather them up, hurrying after him.

“Peeta!” I shout when he heads towards one of the ski lifts. He turns at the sound of his name, his board tucked beneath his arm, goggles perched on top of his helmet. For one second, he smiles, bright as the sun, and then it’s gone. The ache in my chest throbs painfully.

The group he’s with pauses and stares as I come to a halt. I realize I must look crazed, my braid wild and my beanie askew. I can feel the heat of a blush forming beneath the bite of the cold from exposure on my cheeks. I blink as I realize these people are all strangers to me, and at least one of his companions is a girl. She pops her chewing gum and says something I don’t catch over the rush of blood in my ears.

“Yeah, I’ll take the next lift,” Peeta says over his shoulder to them. They don’t seem to question this and climb aboard, leaving Peeta and I alone. Now that I have his attention, I have no idea what I’m going to say to him. He rescues me from the awkward silence, like he did so often when we were kids. “Something wrong with them? I transferred your bindings from your old skis since I didn’t get a chance to fit you for new ones.”

“No,” I say and shake my head.

“How were they in the turns? It’s slightly more of a downhill edge on them, but you always had such great balance and speed that you can handle it. It might actually give you an advantage, if a small one.”

“Peeta,” I say and he brings his gaze up from the skis in my hand to meet my eyes. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

“Oh… You’re welcome.” He glances to the side as the next lift fills and heads up the mountain. The ache throbs again as I realize he’s looking for a way to politely extricate himself from this conversation. That I’ve read too far into his gift. Or read it all wrong. “Katniss about the birds--”

“It’s fine,” I insist. I don’t tell him that I spent half the morning crying on my floor. Or that I saw him on my porch. Because as our eyes meet again, I realize something else. He could have knocked, if he’d wanted to talk to me. There’s a chasm between us and one silly pair of skis can’t breach it. I feel so stupid. He’s moved on. I am no longer part of his life. He’s a complete stranger to me. I no longer know a thing about the best friend I ever had. And I am keeping him from his current friends.

“I love the birds,” I say as I turn away, I manage one more sentence that I hope is something about wishing him a good ride with his friends. I don’t manage to make it back to my cabin before the tears finally break free. Guess I wasn’t out of them just yet, I think as I yank my coat off and scream as I throw it on the ground.


	6. A Slow Lap

_There’s a massive wipe board just to the right of the cafe. A giant calendar with competition and training schedules for the next year in four colors of ink. Eirik’s pride shines through in the board, which he excuses by claiming that it is difficult to keep track with four top athletes in the family and their sometimes conflicting schedules. Peeta spruces up the board with cartoon versions of each of them._

_Graham sprinting up a hill on the left side then flying through the air at the top of the board, his skis in a V. He’s finally perfected his jumps enough to be truly competitive in what’s always been his goal -- the Nordic Combined, just like Gramps. He finished just off the podium in the final event in Italy, but no one cared much since he'd already earned a pair of bronze medals in the individual and the team events. He’s already talking Vancouver, but this time he wants gold. Just like Gramps._

_Ryen screaming down a mountain in the downhill, then snoring on a mound of snow, a dream bubble over his head with himself flipping upside down, skis in a cross. It’s a not so subtle dig at Mrs. Mellark. Ryen competed in a handful of downhill alpine events in Italy, but as one of the younger competitors, he came home empty handed. Every day after training, when he and Mrs. Mellark inevitably get into a fight about some minutiae in his technique or his attitude, Ryen ends it with a threat to switch to freestyle skiing. That usually shuts her up, but solves nothing._

_Peeta soaring over a half pipe, landing and spraying up a plume of snow on a slalom course. Katniss smiles at that one. He’s getting really good and she’s confident that he’ll be headed to Vancouver with his brothers in four years, even if he’s still not confident about it._

_The most fanciful drawings are reserved for her, though. She starts in the center and skis across the bottom of the board, disappears around the left corner only to reappear on the right, her rifle aimed towards the targets right at the edge of the board. Everywhere she goes, a colorful flock of hummingbirds follows her._

_It was Eirik’s idea to train her for biathlon rather than just cross country skiing. She helps her Dad teach skiing in the winter, shooting in the summer -- both rifle and archery. It only seemed natural to develop and make use of all her skills. Her parents balked at first, but Eirik wouldn’t hear of it once he learned that their concern was school and travel expenses._

_“She is a member of this family, as are you, Lillian, and Primrose,” Eirik had told her father, as if that settled it. Tutors had been hired, course plans arranged with their tiny local school to fill the gaps during their absences. Work schedules at the lodge were adjusted so that at least one adult always accompanied the children. When they could, Peeta and Katniss made it to each other’s competitions. Even when he couldn’t be there, Katniss listened to music and danced to loosen up before she skied. He always called or texted right before her starts. She did the same for his._

_Katniss twists the leather cord around her fingers, twists and untwists and holds onto the hummingbird charm her father made for her twelfth birthday. She’s never without it and somehow, his nickname for her has caught on. Probably because at her last race, Peeta drew a hummingbird on a poster board she could see as she skied. That’s how she knew he was there. She’d know his drawings anywhere. He wasn’t supposed to be at that race. Having him there had been a wonderful surprise. She thinks about the hug he gave her after, lifting her off her feet into the air, and warmth bursts free of her heart, spreading rapidly up to her neck and down to her legs._

_A hand lands on her shoulder and squeezes. She looks up at her dad and smiles at the pride in his eyes. The aftermath of the games in Turin plus a few competitions here and there kept the family split the past few months. Today, they’re finally all back in Wyoming, at least for a little while._

_“Busy year ahead of us,” her dad says and she nods. The past two years have been extremely busy and they'll only be getting more so. “Come on, birthday girl. Everyone’s waiting in the ballroom for us.” She spins and throws her arms around her dad’s waist. He returns the embrace and rubs her back._

* * *

 

Every time I strap on my hummingbird skis, I think of Peeta. It’s inevitable, since he made them for me. And that’s the part that I don’t understand.

Once I get over my initial hurt, I examine and re-examine those awful days before I left, and I finally admit to myself that I may have it all wrong in my head. We were fifteen, after all. Still just kids. And maybe he’s not the boy that I left, but I know that the Peeta I knew and loved is still in there somewhere. At least parts of him. The skis prove it.

The skis. They have to mean something. I know they do. Because Peeta loved my father as much as I did. He wouldn’t devote all of that time to meticulously crafting skis for me and painting them like that, asking questions to make sure they worked for me, if our shared memories mean nothing to him. If _I_ mean nothing to him.

I take my frustration and confusion out on the trails. Puffing in a steady rhythm synced with the motions of my arms and legs. I don’t know if it’s my imagination but I feel as though I’m flying on these skis. They glide over the snow like a pair of wings crafted just for me.

I’ve locked my mind against Peeta and our history for so long that I can barely handle the flood as all of it returns to me. When I don’t have physical training to focus my body on, I’m distracted, my mind elsewhere almost constantly, which surely explains how he’s able to surprise me in the small store next to the cafe that sells packaged meals as I stand there trying to figure out what I want for lunch.

“I hear the brioche is good.”

I jump and close my fist around the hummingbird charm. I hadn’t even realized I’d been playing with it.

When I turn to face Peeta, he smirks at me, as though he knows he caught me off guard. And here…here is the smile and bright eyes that I remember. My friend.

“I’ve always been partial to the turkey,” I say.

“I know. But they swapped out the cranberry orange glaze for a spicy mustard. You’d hate it now.”

I’m gagging inside but his knowing grin and certainty that he can still read me so easily infuriates me. I shrug. “Maybe I’ve developed a taste for mustard.”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t be the only change you’ve made recently.”

“I could say the same thing about you. You never used to get lunch in here.”

He’s silent and I pick up one of the wrapped turkey sandwiches. Peeta slips his hands in his pockets and waits.

“I can’t,” I concede and toss the sandwich back in the display. Rooba eyes both of us as though she’s waiting for a blow out in her mini mart. I’d like to reassure her, but I can’t do that anymore than I can stomach the idea of mustard on my sandwich. Peeta steps closer and selects a sandwich before handing it to me.

_Avocado, roasted peppers, five cheese blend, apricot chutney on toasted brioche._

My mouth is already watering.

His phone rings in his pocket and he glances at it but ignores it. He doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave my presence today. I feel a tiny flickering of hope.

“You want one too?” I ask.

He selects a sandwich and now it’s my turn to smirk at his discomfort.

“If you must know, I didn’t get a chance to do my grocery shopping in town this week. I’ve been busy rebuilding some clumsy cross country skier’s equipment,” he says.

It feels like a burn, the embarrassed fever that takes hold when he mentions my fall.

“Wait,” I say as I swat aside his hand with a few bills in it and hand Rooba my credit card to pay for both sandwiches. The least I can do to repay him for the skis is buy his lunch. He’d never let me pay for the skis themselves anyways, but he does let me buy his sandwich. Probably because he knows it’s pointless to argue with me about it. “How do you know how I cracked my ski? I didn’t tell you I fell.”

“Ski patrol sees everything,” he says, eyes comically wide and I’m transported to another time and a different Mellark saying the same thing. My cheeks still burn, but I know he’s lying. We may be ten year strangers, but his tells haven’t changed one bit.

“You’ve been keeping an eye on me,” I accuse and he shakes his head, ears turning pink as he looks anywhere but at me.

“Think of it as making sure you didn’t have to suffer unwanted reunions,” he says. The words bring his eyes back to mine. An implied question behind them.

I don’t know what to say. I’m struggling with an unpleasant mix of anger, guilt, confusion, hurt, and longing. Yes, I realize as our eyes hold each other in place. There’s an awful lot of longing in that mix. I might as well admit it since we’ve opened this hellhole to our past.

“Computers slow today, Rooba?” he asks and finally breaks the spell by looking at her as he says it.

“Not as slow as you,” she mutters and rips off the receipt, handing it to me with my card. I shift nervously on my feet. When our eyes meet again, I realize that I don’t want to see him go yet. I notice then that he’s got epoxy and wax on his shirt. He must have been working in The Locker again.

“Are you still working on that board with the skulls?”

“No, something for Graham today.” Neither one of us moves, although Peeta does glare at Rooba over my shoulder. I keep my eyes focused on Peeta, knowing somehow that if I wait long enough, he’ll give me what I want. I’m right.

“You wanna see?”

“I’d love to.”

“Okay.”

We’re silent as we walk back to The Locker. A few employees greet Peeta and he returns it, his expression tight. I don’t recognize most of the employees. The ones that I do recognize seem a little too enthusiastic to see him.

Or maybe it’s me, I think when Thom Daly does a double take at the sight of us together and then grins foolishly. It reminds me of how close we once were, Peeta and I. How we were never far from each other’s sides all those years growing up here.

Tossing his sandwich on one of the workbenches in The Locker, Peeta motions for me to do the same. He leads me towards the back and points through a glass window into a booth filled with heavy machinery for milling skis and boards. On the table, a pair of partially assembled skis, the layers visible since Peeta hasn’t added the upper shell or bonded the edges yet.

“Are they getting special graphics next?” I can’t help but ask.

“Yeah. Graham says he just wants plain blue but he gets stripes anyways. Red, white, and blue.”

“How patriotic.”

“And conveniently Norway’s colors too,” Peeta says and I snort at the face he makes.

“Graham always wanted to be Gramps just a little too much.”

“Tell me about it. But the one time I gave him a solid color, he finished the season thirtieth, never touched those skis again. He still pretends to protest the stripes, though.”

“Sounds like Graham. What’s Ryen get?”

“‘Shave me,’ on the right ski. ‘I missed a spot,’ on the left. In bold lettering.”

The laughter breaks free of my throat as I picture Ryen with the soul patch he’s been sporting lately, and Peeta smiles. We wander back towards the front and Peeta gives me a sort of impromptu tour of his workshop. I notice the curious blend of equipment set aside for the lodge and the projects for his business, wonder how he keeps it all straight so one of his thousand dollar custom skis doesn’t wind up on the shelves at the equipment rental window.

We sit on the stools and unwrap our sandwiches. I pretend fascination with a glob of apricot chutney while memories rush at me. We used to spend hours in here, avoiding his mother, working on stuff for school. So often I’d read aloud or quiz Peeta for an upcoming test while his hands were occupied. His dad stopping by with hot chocolate or treats from the cafe or the restaurant. School came easy for me, but not Peeta. It was always easier for him to absorb the lessons if his hands were busy with something else, prepping, fixing, maintaining the lodge’s rental equipment. His board, my skis.

I take a bite of my sandwich and close my eyes in bliss. It’s so good I might lick it off the floor if I dropped some.

“I take it you like it?”

I open my eyes and Peeta’s staring. He blinks and his lips curl up in the hint of a smile. All I can do is nod. My mouth is too full of sandwich to answer.

Then the smile slides off his face and he ducks his head. I hold my breath, terrified that we’re going to dredge up the worst of it right now. I’m not ready to face it. My palms itch as I think of that horde of demons and how Prim said I outran them. I didn’t. Just evaded them for awhile. And now I dread the moment when they finally catch me.

“Katniss, why’d you come back here? Why now after all these years?”

It’s far enough from what I feared he was about to ask that I nearly laugh in relief.

“Haymitch told me to go home.” I shrug, still only giving him part of the truth.

“Do you think maybe he didn’t mean for you to get on a plane?” Peeta asks. “I’m sure he just meant for you to go to your house in Colorado Springs. Or your apartment or your boyfriend’s place…”

“Prim and I live together in an apartment.” His thumb taps on the side of the table.

“With Prim? How’s she doing?”

“Eirik didn’t tell you?” I tease and Peeta shakes his head. Odd. “She’s studying physical therapy at UCCS. Doing really well, too.”

“I’m sure she is. Everdeens seem to have a knack for the art of healing.” Oh shit, I think and we both look away from one another. It’s a loaded subject. But as I search for something else to say, I realize almost everything is going to be a loaded subject with Peeta.

I watch his jaw clench as he focuses back on his sandwich. It feels like a door has slammed between us again and I hate it. There has to be a way through it or maybe around it. I wish I knew how, since he’s always been so good at getting over my walls. But the longer we stay silent, the more I start to believe I’ll never figure it out.

Conceding this round to him and the past, I finish my sandwich and stand.

“Thank you for the tour, and the sandwich recommendation. It was really good,” I say.

“Any time. Can’t have you eating a less than stellar meal while you’re training.”

I nod and I move my feet to leave, wishing he’d reach out to me again. Or maybe it’s my turn. I’m having a hard time keeping track and the truth is, I just want my friend back. But I can’t have that.

I’m halfway to the door when I spot a pair of ski boots with a tag on them. Marked for repair. The date checked in is the same as the date of completion on the work. Today. I’ve never once known Peeta to turn down a plea for help.

My lips shake in a smile I can barely suppress and I spin around to face him again.

“I’m in a slump. A bad one. I can’t hit a damn thing and my times are shit,” I say. For two seconds, I think it’s not going to work and then he looks up at me. “Haymitch got fed up with me and told me to go home, get my head on straight, and let him know when I was ready to train for the games for real.”

“Does he know where you are?”

“He and Prim practically packed my bag and buckled my seatbelt on the plane. He’ll be here in two weeks.”

“I see. Colorado has a better training facility for you. Here you have to share the weight room with half-baked dude bros.”

“I can handle the dude bros. Colorado doesn’t have what I need this time.”

They don’t have you.

He clears his throat and I listen to my own pulse in my ears. It’s so loud.

“Okay. So what’s your training routine like these days?” Peeta asks.


	7. A Reason to Fight

_“No. All wrong. Do it again,” Mrs. Mellark says in a waspish tone. Katniss rolls her eyes as Agnes Mellark smacks Ryen’s calf with a ski pole. He glares at her but she doesn’t notice, too busy launching into a tirade about how sloppy his turns were at his race in Canada last week. Katniss spins, almost slipping on the snow, grabbing Peeta’s arm and making him change direction too._

_“Nope,” Katniss says, shaking her head. “You are not walking into her line of fire today.”_

_His face turns red, but he follows her right back into the lodge. They have to walk by Mrs. Mellark and Ryen to get to the lifts, which means they won’t be skiing down the slopes a few times to let off steam like they’d planned. They’ll just have to hide in The Locker for awhile._

_They avoid one mother only to run straight into another one._

_“I’ve been looking for you two. I just got off the phone with your principal,” Lillian Everdeen blocks their path, her face stern and her arms crossed. Peeta gulps and Katniss scowls at her mother._

_“It’s not his fault!” Lillian lifts one eyebrow and waits for Katniss to damn them both._

_“Katniss,” Peeta pleads, but she doesn’t relent. He was allowed to lose his temper in school today and she behaved herself. Like her father expects of her. Hold your head high. Keep your cool. Ignore the jabs. It’s not fair! She wants to scream._

_“He was just standing up for me!” Katniss tells her mother. Lillian looks around, noting that they’re drawing attention. She returns her discerning eyes to Peeta’s face and sighs._

_“Come on, you two. Upstairs so I can do something about that cut.”_

_The fight drains out of Katniss at her mother’s commanding tone. As they follow Lillian up the stairs to the executive office area, Peeta’s fingers brush Katniss’. She’s fighting back tears and the need to break something. Then his fingers lace with hers and squeeze, and somehow everything feels a little better. She doesn’t let go as Peeta follows her mother’s order to hop onto the counter in Eirik’s personal bathroom. She doesn’t let go while Lillian cleans the cut just below his eye and carefully bandages it._

_“You’re going to have a nasty bruise, but the cut should heal nicely.” Her mother is quick, though and it isn’t long before she steps back and fixes Peeta with a stern look that brooks no lies. “Tell me what happened.”_

_“Ashton talked about Katniss using a slur,” he admits as his shoulders slump. Katniss feels her cheeks heating with the shame as it swamps over her again. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Everdeen. I lost my temper and I -- I punched him.”_

_“And that started the fight. You both know better,” Lillian murmurs and Peeta sits up straighter._

_“Katniss didn’t fight! Mrs. Coin wouldn’t listen to us! She shouldn’t be in trouble at all!”_

_“Well Ashton should keep his fat, ignorant mouth shut! He deserved to get punched! You just beat me to it!” Katniss argues and Lillian’s head swivels between the two of them. She finally holds her hands up for silence and they both shrivel._

_“What exactly did Ashton call you, Katniss?”_

_“He called me a…” she can’t even bring herself to repeat it._

_“He called her a mutt, and a… squaw,” Peeta mumbles, the edges of rage still in his voice. It’s the tame version of what Ashton said, but it’s enough to draw her mother up to her full height._

_“Unbelievable,” she says. “Peeta, I cannot excuse you from fighting in school with your family, but I will back you up for having good reason to slug that bully. Did you at least finish the fight?”_

_Peeta glances at Katniss, confused, and she nods. Ashton looks a whole lot worse than Peeta right now and it’s not because he was an ugly booger face anyways. “He finished it alright.”_

_“Fine. Now go wait in your grandfather’s office. Both of you. I’ll find your fathers and they can discuss your punishment, or lack thereof.”_

_She’s still muttering angrily as she leaves. Katniss and Peeta stare wide eyed at one another for a moment, scarcely believing their luck. Far better to face the judge and jury of their fathers than their mothers._

_It’s only when he tries to get down that Katniss realizes she’s still holding Peeta’s hand. Her lungs squeeze and he clears his throat as she lets go of him in favor of playing with her braid. They wander into Gramps’ study, drawn towards the shelf with rows of pictures of him, his daughter, his grandsons, and even Katniss skiing. Most of these are downstairs on The Wall, a photographic mosaic of the history of the lodge, it’s owners and employees and even some of its more frequent visitors wallpapered over the hallways in the downstairs employee areas. They see these pictures on it every day. What they don’t see every day is the round golden disk still displayed hanging on its original ribbon. They both fold their arms and lean on the shelf to stare at the gleam of it._

_“Think we’d get in trouble if we touched it?” Katniss asks._

_“Better not push it,” Peeta says and she nods. A noise outside makes them both jump but it’s not their fathers. Whoever it is continues down the hallway. Peeta returns to staring at the gold medal his grandfather earned in Innsbruck in 1964, but Katniss glares at a picture of his mother slicing through a slalom course._

_“What’s her problem anyways? Just because she never made it to the Olympics doesn’t give her an excuse to be a cow about it.”_

_“No, she did not compete in the games. But there are days when I fear that what happened to her was far worse than simply not making it,” Eirik says behind them, making both Katniss and Peeta jump and whirl around. He glances at the bandaged cut on Peeta’s face. Peeta hangs his head and Eirik sits behind his desk, motioning for them to sit in front of it. They obey and sit slouched, waiting for their reprimand._

_“Your mother was a sight to behold when she skied. I encouraged her to train. Train harder, and perhaps I pushed her too hard. But she was greatness. Better than many of the men that year,” Eirik tells them. “She was a favorite for her event, the slalom, but she was injured, out for the season preceding the games and unable to secure her spot on the team. Others trained while she recuperated. When she was given a chance, through the trials, to earn her spot on the team for Lake Placid, she was not yet fully recovered. She did not put in her best performance.”_

_He pauses for a moment, lost in memory as Katniss and Peeta wait for the rest of the story._

_“My Agnes was named as an alternate, and I tried to reassure her. I had been an alternate for Norway’s team in 1956, and still I went, because someone else was injured. That launched my career as an athlete, paved the road for my win in Innsbruck. Sadly, your mother did not share my fortune. She lost herself for some time. After years of working towards her goal only to have it snatched away in a few seconds! ...She did not know how to handle it._

_“Then she met your father when he came here to work for me. I was...angry with her. Accused her of being distracted, of losing sight of her goal. I do not believe that she intended it, perhaps I pushed her to recklessness, but Graham was born nonetheless and she retired. As time continued, I was thrilled to have my three grandsons. As for your mother...she loves you in her way, but I do not believe her heart and mind ever healed from her injury. She placed all her lost hopes and dreams on all three of your shoulders.”_

_Before Eirik can continue with the story, Bram Mellark and Sage Everdeen enter the room, faces creased with concern. Story time ends, but not without one last shared look between Katniss and Peeta. All Katniss can think is that it’s no excuse for the way Agnes treats her sons. All Peeta can think is that being left behind like that sounds awful._

* * *

 

I’m starting to think I’d rather have Mrs. Mellark training with me. At least then I’d have an excuse to be furious right back at her unnecessary cruelty. I even miss Haymitch’s dry sarcasm shouted across empty spaces because he’s too lazy to get out of his chair. Almost anything would be better than Peeta’s near silent judgement. After three days, Peeta hasn’t relented, even though he’s barely said a word. He doesn’t have to, I see it in his eyes every time I do something that disappoints him. Every aspect of how I move, shoot, even how I breathe, eat, and sleep, analyzed and picked apart. He’s cold as ice, silent when we’re not talking training. When he does speak it’s one or two words at a time.

“Faster.”

“Cleaner.”

“Again.”

“Don’t quit.”

“Get up.”

“Push hard.”

If I’d been hoping for some kind of progress with him by spending hours at a time in his presence, I was sorely mistaken.

“I don’t think your technique is the problem,” Peeta says on the third afternoon as I’m lying prone in the snow, breathing hard from sprints and trying not to shoot too wide. That’s it. I finally lose my cool with him.

“Well it has to be something,” I argue and he shrugs.

“Might be in your head.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, that’s what Haymitch thinks, too, but he couldn’t fix it either, so try again,” I snap. My finger squeezes the trigger and the target doesn’t flip over, but a nick in the white paint reveals how close it was.

“Almost got one,” Peeta says and I glare at him. He grins back at me. “What were you thinking about?”

“Your head in the circle,” I snarl and he laughs. God I’ve missed that sound so much. A current runs through me and I ignore it.

“Lucky for me you missed. Come on, Katniss. I know you can do better. Relax. And then shoot.”

I huff as I turn back to the target and breathe in. Then out. Shoot again. This time, the target flips over. The snow crunches beside me and I keep my eyes focused on the target as Peeta lays down next to me, on his stomach. His shoulder right up against mine.

“What were you thinking about that time?” he whispers. I shake my head, unable to parse out my feelings.

“Let’s try this instead,” he says. “What emotion were you channeling? Anger? Happiness? Determination? Hunger? An itchy nose?”

I snort a little and Peeta smiles. It’s almost blinding after how hard he’s been the past few days, I close my eyes against the way it makes me feel. And that’s when it hits me.

A soft summer night. Crickets chirping in the valley. The scent of the juniper and the wet earth after a recent rain. A cool rock beneath me and the warmth of a body beside me. Fingers in my hair. And more...

When I open my eyes, our faces are inches apart.

“Happy,” I say. “I felt...happy.”

“Okay. That’s good. Whatever that point of focus was just now, it worked. Try to repeat it.”

Peeta stands and moves away from me. My vision blurs but my next three shots are all perfect. I’m grateful when he calls it a day. Then he surprises me, walking with me back to my cabin rather than leaving as soon as we reach the lodge.

“Out of curiosity,” he starts as we pause on my porch. “What do you usually feel when you ski? Right before the slump started?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asks, incredulous, and I scowl at him.

“They call me a machine for a reason. I shut out all my feelings, focus on what I have to do, and then I do it. There’s no room for error if I don’t feel anything.”

“Huh.”

“What? Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not if it works for you it’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“If you don’t feel anything...then why are you still doing it?”

I stare at him without an answer. He shifts his right foot and nods at me, his eyes still hidden behind his tinted glasses.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Katniss.”

 


	8. A Moment Closer

_“First day of summer break! What do you want to do?” Katniss asks, leaning over the counter at the caf é to grin at Peeta. _

_“I wanted to sleep in, but you see how well that turned out,” he waves behind him and then plucks one of the cheese buns off the warm shelf, dropping it on a plate and sliding it in front of her. She grins in anticipation. She likes the cheese rolls from the fancy restaurant best, the added rosemary giving just that something extra. But these plain ones at the caf é rank pretty high on her list of favorite foods. _

_“You’re not stuck working all day are you?”_

_“Not here. Supposed to spend some time in The Locker later on. We’ve still got some skis from the rentals needing maintenance before we put them up for the summer.”_

_“Yawn,” Ryen says as he walks by behind Katniss. She wads up a few paper napkins and throws them, getting Ryen right on the back of the head._

_“And she strikes gold!” Ryen shouts, scooping the napkins off the floor and handing them back to her with a flourish, a low bow, and a wink._

_“Get lost, tube socks,” Peeta says. Katniss has no idea what that means, but whatever it is makes Ryen red faced._

_“Stop being a pissant and man up, runt,” Ryen returns and then storms off towards the slopes._

_“What’s he talking about?”_

_“Nothing,” Peeta says. Katniss shrugs and eats her cheese bun, used to the three brothers’ pointless banter and ribbing that she doesn’t always understand. Peeta says she really doesn’t want to know because most of it’s gross or dumb._

_“Since you’re busy, I think I’ll go help Dad get the archery range ready for tomorrow,” she says._

_“Sure thing. Meet me at The Locker when you’re done?” Peeta bags a few more rolls for her and makes a coffee for her Dad. She smiles as she gathers up her things, reluctant to leave but excited to have the whole summer to look forward to with Peeta._

_“See you then.”_

_After the archery range, her dad enlists her help along with a few of the rangers to clear one of the trails that washed out during a rainstorm. By the time she’s done with work, she’s sweaty and gross. Katniss hurries home to shower and change into her clean jeans and a shirt from some band Peeta took her to see last summer. She grabs a jacket and her trail bag, because she never knows what adventure Peeta has planned for them when they hang out, but during summer, it’s usually away from the lodge._

_When she reaches The Locker, Peeta is showing Woof some of his drawings. Woof nods and examines them and Katniss hoists herself onto a stool to wait. She already knows what they are. Sketches of graphics to print on snowboards and skis. It took her close to three weeks to convince Peeta to show them to Woof and ask what they’d need at the lodge to start milling skis and boards. He’s too talented to let those drawings go to waste. And maybe she really liked the one with leaves blowing in swirls of silver wind. So much that she wants that on her own skis. There’s no way she could ever afford custom skis like that, though._

_“We can talk to your grandfather tomorrow,” Woof finishes as he catches sight of Katniss waiting and she waves._

_“Thanks, Woof!” Peeta says, stuffing his sketches in his bag and winding his way through the workbenches towards Katniss._

_“What are we doing?”_

_“Hummingbird trail?” he asks with a grin and she nods, pointing to her pack and her hiking boots._

_“I thought you might say that.”_

_Conversation is easy as they hike, although they keep it hushed, just in case. They do manage to spot a few hummingbirds flitting through the handful of shrubs that are still in bloom. Their footsteps are quiet on the earth, moist from a quick shower that rolled through recently. When they reach the halfway point of the trail, Katniss clambers onto one of the flat stones overlooking the valley. Peeta climbs up next to her and they sit shoulder to shoulder with their legs stretched in front of them, soaking up the last rays of the sun._

_“Did you bring your flashlight?” she asks and Peeta nods. “Good. We’re gonna get caught by nightfall aren’t we?”_

_“Probably.” He’s looking ill, though. Much more flushed than he usually does after such a short hike. She lifts a hand to his forehead._

_“Are you feeling okay?”_

_“I’m fine, really. Just a little winded,” he says in a rush, grasping her hand and removing it from his forehead._

_“Oh. Okay,” she says, placing her hand in her lap. They’re silent as they watch the sun sink into the valley and Katniss sighs, wondering what she’s doing so wrong that Peeta’s not getting the hints._

_“Actually, no. There’s kind of something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he says. “It’s okay if you say ‘no.’ I mean, I’d totally understand and--”_

_“Peeta, whatever it is, you can ask me,” she says, turning her body to face him with her legs crossed. She figures it’s something about the band he wants to go see in town next week. Or the skateboarding park they’ve just built near the library. She bites her tongue to keep from telling him that she’d go anywhere with him._

_“Okay, um see the thing is, you’re my best friend and I don’t know if it means anything but um...” Her heart accelerates as she hangs on his every word, sensing that whatever he’s saying will end either with her crying or shouting in joy. She hopes it’s joy. She hopes he’s been feeling the same way as her. She’s developed an absurd fascination with his lips and his arms and other things that she’s almost ashamed to even mention. “Damn, this is a lot harder than I thought it’d be.”_

_She tries to smile at him, preparing for the hurt. Her stomach ties itself in knots as he looks up at her and licks his lips. She leans towards him and he takes a deep breath. His eyes drop to her mouth and fixate there._

_“Katniss, would you maybe want--” she smacks her mouth into his, unwilling to wait for whatever it was he was going to ask her. His mouth is still open and her lips meet his braces._

_“Ow,” she says, jumping back and fingering her lip. She feels almost offended for him. No wonder he always looks uncomfortable with those things. But she can’t regret kissing him as he stares at her wide eyed, even though embarrassment is taking over. She’d rather just know now. He can say his pretty words later if that’s what he was planning. Or she can start dealing with the hurt if she was wrong._

_He shakes himself and then reaches out, the backs of his fingers brushing up the line of her jaw. She trembles as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear._

_“Would you want to kiss me?” he whispers._

_“Is that really what you were going to ask?”_

_“No,” he says with a smile. “I was going to ask if you wanted to maybe go on a date with me. But I’ll take another kiss. If you’ll allow it.”_

_Words fail her and she nods, stopping when his nose slides next to hers and then his lips fold together with hers. They sit there, suspended for a second. His lips are soft and he tastes like Altoids. And then he pulls away. It’s her first kiss and the awestruck look in his eyes gives her courage. She swings her legs free and drapes them over his, scooting closer as she wraps her arms around his waist to grip his shirt and bring their mouths back together._

_Something deep inside her blooms and stretches. She’s felt this before. In unguarded moments or at night when she wonders what it would be like to kiss him. To let him touch her. To touch him. But never this deep. She wants another kiss. And when she has that, another._

_His hands toy with the hem of her shirt until she reaches down and urges him to slide beneath. And the thrill of his warm palm on her skin surpasses the feeling of a thousand perfect shots. Darkness falls as they kiss and touch, the crickets chirping in the valley below them and she shivers. He pulls his jacket out of his pack and drapes it around her, pulling her close against his chest. She snuggles into his warmth, hiding her giddy smile in his shirt._

_“Yes,” she says._

_“Yes what?”_

_“Yes I want to go on a date with you, Peeta.”_

* * *

 

I sink into the tub and groan. The hot water is exactly what I need after the week I’ve had training with Peeta. Not only that, I’m running short on funds. Not many people want to sponsor a reclusive biathlete who can’t get a single good take for a commercial. There’s not much glamor in the sport to begin with; but as a spokesperson, I give it a whole new low.

I’ve barely had time to squeeze in ten hours for my freelance data entry gig since Peeta turned into a fucking despot. I almost spat at him today that it must run in the family, but I know that’d hit a seriously deep nerve. Not to mention, he hasn’t been awful the way she is so much as he’s just demanding. So demanding. Which might be enjoyable under different circumstances.

It doesn’t help that being around him has awoken feelings I’d thought were long dead. Half the time we’re together, I want to throttle him and the other half, I want to mount him.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I groan to the ceiling and curl into a ball. I don’t want an answer. And yet, that’s when my phone chimes with a text message. I lift my head and stare at it on the small table a few feet away. I already talked to both Prim and Haymitch before I climbed into the tub. She was thrilled that Peeta and I are working together. I didn’t tell Haymitch yet. All I told him is that my shooting at least appears to be back on track. I haven’t missed a shot all week. Since it’s probably not either of them, that only leaves…Peeta.

It chimes again and I dry my hands off before hoisting myself halfway out of the tub and grabbing the thing. I whimper at the pain, but damnit I am a highly skilled athlete. This pain is nothing.

_Take tomorrow off. I’ve gotta help Gramps with something._

_I hope you’re relaxing like I told you to right now._

I grind my teeth and type out an answer.

**_Trying to, but my zealot trainer keeps interrupting._ **

_Tell Haymitch it’s past his bedtime_

**_I didn’t mean Haymitch_ **

I watch the ellipses appear for a moment. They stop, and I give up on my bath, wrapping myself in a towel and pulling the plug as I try to formulate what to say next.

_Sorry. I guess I just know that you can do this and I hate seeing you doubt yourself so much._

That underlying sweetness of his is not helping with the whole wanting to mount him issue. I sit on my bed, typing and erasing. A thousand things from sarcasm to ineffective attempts at seductive. Finally I settle on:

**_Shouldn’t you be relaxing too instead of worrying about me?_ **

**_Long hours at The Locker, plus training with me, helping Gramps run the lodge...you have to be exhausted._ **

_I was actually headed into town in a few minutes to meet up with some friends._

Oh. In an instant, I have a picture in my head of that gum popping girl I saw him with at the lifts. Granted there was an entire group of people, but I can’t help but fixate on her.

**_Oh. Have fun_ **

The text is gone before I even realize it. “So eloquent, Katniss. Just fucking ask him --”

_Would you wanna come with?_

_I promise it’s not anywhere loud or overstimulating._

“-- and what if I want loud and overstimulating?” I ask my room, but I’m already moving to hang up my wet towel and find something warm to wear.

**_I suppose I could spare an hour or two_ **

**_If my coach allows it_ **

_Permission to let loose granted_

**_I meant Haymitch that time_ **

There’s a long pause as I throw on some clothes and I almost laugh at my mental image of Peeta trying to find something to say. My phone finally chimes as I pull my shirt over my head.

_When the cat’s away…_

**_I’m ready when you are_ **

_Meet me in the lobby?_

**_Be right there_ **

I toy with my hummingbird necklace while I wait in the lobby. Thankfully it isn’t long before Peeta shows up, or I might start to doubt myself.

“Hey, this way,” he motions and I follow him out to the parking garage. He opens the passenger side of a green Jeep and I vault into the seat, regretting it almost instantly. I have a few moments to wipe the grimace of pain off my face before he climbs into the driver seat and smiles at me, the expression tentative.

It will be the first time in ten years we’ve done something together just for fun.

“This better be worth my time,” I tease and try to fix my expression so he knows I don’t mean it. He glances at me, skepticism in his blue eyes.

“You doubt me?”

“I had a big night planned.”

“Doing what? Throwing darts at my picture on the wall?”

“Ooh, ideas for future nights. Thank you,” I say and he laughs.

“At least it’d be something involving aim.”

I gasp and playfully smack his arm. “You’re one to talk. You can’t hit the side of a barn with a dump truck.”

“Never needed to,” he says. It sobers me, thinking about could have beens. I fold my hands in my lap as we fall silent. I watch the flashes of trees as we drive the last few miles down the mountain towards town.

“So these friends of mine...they’re all boarders so--”

“Talk in short phrases and have snacks handy?”

“I was gonna say don’t be a ski snob,” he returns, the smile back on his face. I want it to stay there. “But the snacks aren’t a bad idea.”

We seem to have gotten over the small bump I inadvertently threw down and before I’m ready to lose his undivided attention, he pulls into a parking lot next to a brick building with glowing neon spotlights painted on the side. There’s a short line and a bouncer at the front door and I scowl at it, listen for a moment, surprised when there’s no thumping bass.

“It looks like a nightclub,” I say when he opens my door. I hadn’t realized he’d already gotten out.

“It kind of is. You’ll see.” He helps me down and holds onto my hand for a little longer than necessary as I gain my footing on the patch of snow. I’m still disappointed when he lets go.

By the time we reach the front door, there’s no line anymore. In fact, the bouncer has to come back outside when Peeta knocks. They exchange a few words that tell me Peeta knows him, and then the bouncer tells us to get our asses inside before he freezes.

“Thanks, Mitch,” Peeta says and ushers me in first.

He almost trips over me because I am greeted by the weirdest sight and halt just inside the door. There’s a DJ going through the motions of spinning tunes and people dancing on the main floor. Except, the only noise in the whole place is the muted conversations of those seated at the tables along the walls or leaning over the bar.

“Are they dancing to the music in their head?” I ask and Peeta chuckles.

“Sort of,” he says. Mitch appears beside us with two sets of stereo headphones.

“They’re blue toothed,” he explains. I know I’m staring at him like he’s insane, but I can’t help it. He’s not making much sense. Peeta accepts both sets in exchange for some money and our coats. I glare at him for having the audacity to pay.

“Skis,” I say and he shrugs.

“You get next round,” he says and then he places the headphones on my head. “Your volume is here.”

He taps it, and with each tap, the music gets louder. _Oh._ My mouth rounds out and I look back at the floor, see that everyone there wears a set, and for the most part, they’re moving in sync with the song in my ears. The people at the tables have sets sitting near their hands or draped over the backs of chairs. At the bar, some are listening and others aren’t.

“How cool is that?” I say and my headphones slide back off in time for me to hear Peeta’s chuckle. I look up at him in wonder and he motions towards the tables.

“I think my friends have spotted us.”

“Peetaaaaaaaa!” One of them bellows and Peeta shakes his head.

“Okay that one I make no excuses for. He’s actually a surfer but he makes do when he’s stuck here.”

“Does that actually translate?”

“In his case, not very well,” Peeta says as he leads me towards the table. “Which is why we usually have to make a toast to Finnick’s rear end. It has provided us with many a laugh.”

I laugh a little myself as the most stunning human being I’ve seen inserts himself right in front of me. Tousled copper waves and bronzed skin, a blinding smile.

“You know the rules, Peeta. You can’t bring a date unless she answers three questions.” Finnick grins at me and I blink, unable to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Not because of him but because of what he’s said.

“Katniss isn’t a date. We grew up together,” Peeta says. It’s only after he’s said it that I feel the punch in my gut. I have to recover quickly, though because Peeta is making introductions.

“So you’ve met Finnick, he’s kind of hard to ignore, much as we try. Dude with the imitation Shaun White hair is Darius.”

“So if you’re not Peeta’s date--”

“Can it Darius. At least let her sit down before you hit on her. Next to him is Johanna--” she examines me from head to toe and pops her gum. My cheeks heat.

“So you’re the famous bi-nap-lete, huh?”

Finnick plops into a seat and drops his head back to fake snore.

“Yep, that’s me. Able to shoot a two inch target at fifty meters. Total bore, though.” Johanna narrows her eyes at me and pops her gum again.

“And before anyone loses their eye, Castor and Pollux.” Peeta motions towards the last two, who are clearly twins. They nod at me in unison. “They will at some point try to confuse you as to which one is which. They will succeed.”

“Hi,” I manage to wave at them, since they seem the safest out of the group.

“Come on, Pollux. I wanna dance,” Johanna says and drags one of the twins towards the dance floor.

“That’s Castor,” Finnick says and looks at the remaining twin. “Isn’t that Castor?”

Pollux shrugs and takes a drink of what looks like plain coke, but the smile on his face makes me think that it was indeed Castor.

“Do you want a drink?” Peeta asks as I slide into an empty seat at the table, grateful that Johanna’s gone.

“Sure. Beer is fine,” I say and he gives me a tentative smile before leaving me to go get drinks. When I turn back to the gathered crowd, I wish I’d gone with him. Peeta’s three remaining friends are all examining me.

“Could you really shoot out Jo’s eye at that distance?” Darius asks and leans towards me.

“Um yeah, on a good day. Eyeballs are a little smaller than my targets when I’m shooting prone.”

“That’s fucking hot,” Darius says and Finnick elbows him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Finnick says and Darius shakes it off.

“You wanna dance, lethal lady?”

I’m tempted. Very tempted. It’s been a rough month and it’s been so long since anyone has hit on me, if they ever have. I look over my shoulder at the dance floor. I kind of do want to dance, but the bar is also within my field of view. Peeta chats with the bartender as he orders our drinks and says something that makes the guy laugh.

“Maybe later,” I say and turn back to them. “What three questions did you want to ask, Finnick?”

“Hope you don’t regret it,” Pollux mutters.

“From whence do you hail?” Finnick asks before I can question what Pollux meant by that.

“I was born here.” Easy enough.

“That doesn’t count,” Darius argues. “Peeta told us two seconds ago that she grew up here with him”

“I’ll allow a do-over for Finnick’s half-baked brain,” I say and Finnick holds out his shirt and sniffs while the others laugh.

“Shit I thought I washed this after my last joint. First question! Favorite band?”

“A Tribe Called Red.” Still too easy.

“Never heard of them,” Finnick says. “Google it, Darius.”

Darius bends his head over his phone as Finnick examines me with gleaming green eyes. “The last person you kissed.”

“Someone I rather wouldn’t have kissed, and technically, he kissed me. But don’t worry. He won’t be trying it again,” I drawl and Finnick grins. Pollux laughs and chokes on his drink, forcing Darius to take a break from his research and pound on his back. I’m glad for their distraction when Finnick asks his final question.

“First person you kissed?”

I freeze. Worse than a fucking deer in headlights. I know it’s written all over my face by the sly wink he gives me. Or maybe Peeta told him. It was so long ago, and we’ve been apart so many years. Finnick’s his friend. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that Peeta would confide something like that, but do guys even talk about that sort of thing? I make some kind of choked stuttering noise in my throat instead of forming words.

“What the hell did you say to her? I was gone for maybe a minute,” Peeta asks as he sets the beers on the table and gives Finnick a strong nudge. I school my expression into one of boredom, but I’m sure I’m failing miserably.

“She said she didn’t mind answering three questions!”

“Peeta,” I say and he turns concerned eyes back on me. Finnick smacks his hand on the table and crows. Darius asks what he missed and I hope I don’t look too desperate as I ask, “Where is the restroom?”

It’s so cowardly of me, but he points it out and I make my escape. I splash water on my face and let it dribble down my scorched cheeks, close my eyes and breathe. Only it doesn’t work. I’m back on that rock with the first taste of Peeta’s lips on mine. A thousand other bittersweet memories as my heart pounds in my chest.

With a frustrated snarl, I wipe my face and force myself back to the table. _I’m fine,_ I mouth to Peeta as soon as he sees me, concern in his eyes. I slide into the chair next to him and nurse my beer. Mostly I listen to the conversation. Peeta keeps telling me we can go whenever I want, but I don’t want to tear him away from his friends. Plus, when they’re not asking about my kissing history, they’re pretty funny. Johanna drags Castor back to the table once she figures out her mistake and the others give her shit for it as she takes Pollux back out to dance. She flips the bird over her shoulder.

Every now and then I manage to join in the conversation. The beer helps, and eventually, I actually manage a laugh at one of Finnick’s surfing stories.

“Well there goes my ride,” Castor says and waves towards the door where Johanna and Pollux are trying to sneak out.

“And your roommate. Luckily, I now have an extra bed in my room. You can crash with me tonight,” Finnick says and Castor nods.

“Thanks man. Darius, you’re the last DD standing. You better be sober.”

“Fuck, I hate being DD sometimes. Yeah, I’m sober. Been drinking Sprite all night,” Darius says. “Puke in my car and you die.”

The three of them down the last of their drinks and wish Peeta and I a good night. I can’t look any of them in the eye, especially not Finnick. When they’re gone, the quiet starts to get to me.

“Early night for them,” I say and Peeta nods.

“They like to hit the slopes early, ruin the grooming for the ski traffic.”

“Assholes,” I say and he laughs.

“I’m sorry if this wasn’t all that relaxing for you,” he says and I shrug.

“It was nice to meet your friends,” I say.

“Yeah? I appreciate you sticking it out. They’re only here for a weekend here and there every year.”

“They don’t live here?”

“No.” He shakes his head and downs the last of his drink, sets the bottle on the table. He only had the one, but I’m not ready to drive back to the lodge yet. Especially not now that I’ve got Peeta to myself again. It’s selfish, I know. But I’ve just missed him so much. I’ve missed this ease and comfort that was always the defining aspect of our friendship when we were kids.

The lighting over the dance floor shifts and catches my attention. I stare for a moment at the swaying bodies. Peeta seems to notice my distraction.

“Did you want to dance?”

“Seems like it should be part of the experience,” I say and he nods, handing me my headphones. I put them on and stand, looking down at him expectantly. He shakes his head and I grab the other pair of headphones, plunk them unceremoniously on his head. Taking his hands in mine, I pull him out of the chair.

Heart pounding and hands sweating, I lead him to the edge of the floor. Let the music fill my ears and my blood. Dropping his hands, I turn to face him. He’s left at least two feet between us. It feels insurmountable, but I start swaying anyways. Lift my arms to the side, only up to my hips. We’ve done this hundreds of times, danced together, although for a different reason. It’s enough, though. It’s as if Peeta’s body remembers every one of those dances, just as mine does. He sways with me, awkwardly at first as the song builds.

His movements gradually smooth out. He reaches for my hands, bringing them up so that our palms are flush. His eyes meet mine with a silent question. I answer by stepping closer, pushing our hands out to the side a little. With each layer added to the music, my hips roll deeper. We’re pulled together by something in the notes. He rotates our arms so my palms rest on top of his. We’re almost chest to chest when Peeta spins me so that my back is to him. I don’t like not being able to see him. I turn my head to protest, forgetting that he won’t be able to hear me when I feel the slight pressure of his chest against my back. His hands resting lightly on my hips, and my fear dissipates.  

I bend my knees and swivel my hips. He follows. Peeta moves closer still, his fingers clenching once on my hips. I lean my head back to rest on his shoulder and close my eyes, following the rhythm of the music and our bodies. How can we be so disconnected and yet fall back into perfect harmony with just a few bars of song? His lips brush my neck and I feel it again. The familiar current I’ve been desperately trying to ignore. Desperately fighting against. But there are some fights that can’t be won. So I let go and let the current guide me.

I reach behind me and weave my fingers through his hair, holding his head in place. I feel rather than hear him groan. His mouth parts and his teeth sink into my skin. I twist our hips as the current pulses lower. Higher. I feel it strongest in my chest and between my legs. But need is a curious thing. Always demanding something stronger. Deeper. So demanding.

Turning, I straddle his left thigh and shift my hands so both are anchored in his hair. His hands slide around my back, palms splayed, the warmth of his touch vibrant through my shirt. A dazed look fills his eyes. His lips part and quiver for a moment.

 _Katniss_ , he mouths right before he rests his forehead on mine. I close my eyes and dance. Feel his exhales on my lips and wish for him to close that small distance. I need him to do it this time. To know that he wants this as badly as I do. To give me hope that he never really stopped wanting me. Loving me. Because I’m not sure that I ever stopped wanting or loving him. I may have locked it away, buried it beneath anger and then cold indifference, but even that wasn’t enough to kill it.

It surges back to the surface as we dance, the movements spreading until they’re full body undulations and one of his hands works its way beneath my shirt, scorching me with memory and want. Our parted lips caress, barely qualifying as a kiss. I feel each tickle of friction as his left hand skims down, over the curve of my ass. He pauses and I can feel him holding back, waiting for my permission.

“Yes,” I whisper and both his hands clench, pulling me further up his thigh until our torsos are pressed tight together. I have to stand on my toes as I grind on him, moaning at both the burst of pleasure the movements elicit and at the feel of his arousal against my thigh. I’m precariously balanced, but I know he won’t let me fall alone. I just want to live in this moment with him. So long denied that it makes my chest ache and my throat constrict.

Someone bumps into us, throwing off our rhythm and bringing the rest of the world into focus. Peeta’s arms tighten around me and he stops dancing, moves me out of the way as the person apologizes and Peeta accepts it good naturedly. He holds onto me until the intruder returns to dancing and then he steps back away from me. His movements deliberate. I stumble and regain my footing. Peeta faces the door and runs his hand through his hair, scraping the headphones off his head.

Cold. I feel so cold as I follow him back to the door, accept my coat in exchange for the headphones. Out to the car. We’re silent on the drive back. It is a tangible thing in the air around us. He drives me as close to my cabin as the roads allow and as I climb out, he opens his mouth to say something to me then shuts it. All I can do is nod. It’s better that way, or I might not be able to dam the feelings up again.

I trudge back to my cabin alone and lock the door behind me, peel off the layers of clothes. I keep it together until I’m in my shower where I sink onto the floor, my arm above me gripping the temperature controls as though they might keep me from falling off the edge of the world and crashing. I tell myself that I’m not crying. It’s merely an effect of the extreme cold I just walked though.


	9. A Close Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW WARNINGS: mentions of blood, vague descriptions of a severe injury.
> 
> You all just remember that you wanted answers, mmmkay? Buckle up, Buttercup.

_“Where are you going so early?” her father asks as she tugs on her boots. Haymitch stands in the kitchen, sipping coffee. She waves at him. She likes when her dad’s sarcastic cousin from New Mexico comes to visit. He plays chess with Gramps and Peeta, teaches Katniss survival skills her dad won’t -- like how to use a knife for more than just hunting or cutting rope, and how to throw a decent punch -- and tells funny stories._

_“Hiking with Peeta,” she answers with a shrug._

_“Alright. Just be careful.” Her father sets his hands on her shoulders and looks her in the eyes._

_“We always are, Dad. I’ve got a first aid kit in my bag. We’ll be back by lunch.”_

_“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he says. Her face heats. She twists the cord of her hummingbird around her fingers as she wonders just how much her Dad has figured out about her and Peeta. It’s not really much of a secret. They’ve been holding hands a lot more, and Ryen did give them shit for kissing behind one of the equipment sheds early one morning. She just got so frustrated that day and couldn’t wait a second more, and Ryen teased Peeta without mercy, finishing with “Ski patrol sees everything.”_

_“Ski season is over,” Peeta had fought back._

_They still haven’t even managed a real date, let alone what her dad seems to be implying. Not that she hasn’t thought about it. A lot._

_They’ve both been busy, working and training. It seems whenever one of them finds free time, Mrs. Mellark finds something else for them to do. It’s getting on Katniss’ last nerve. She really wants to kiss Peeta again and see if it’s just as amazing the third time around as it was the first and second, and maybe then her Dad really will have a reason to worry. But this is the first time in weeks they’ve managed to find time alone together._

_“I will be,” she promises._

_“Okay. There were some pretty heavy rains all week.”_

_“I know, Dad,” she rolls her eyes at him. Her father gives her a sad, strange smile but lets her go after one last admonishment to be back by lunch or to call._

_She hurries through the employee cabins towards the trails. The mud sucks at her boots, but she’s still quick and sure-footed. Peeta’s waiting for her at the trailhead and smiles as she runs at him. She flings herself into his arms and he wraps her in a hug. The tension she’s been carrying melts away as he holds her._

_“Quick, before your mother finds a pile of dishes for you to wash,” Katniss says and Peeta laughs, letting go of her and following her as she pulls him down the trail and into the woods. The woods and talking to Peeta do the rest of the work relaxing her and she forgets to watch what she says._

_“She hates me, doesn’t she?”_

_“She hates everybody,” Peeta says. “Don’t let it bother you.”_

_“Yeah but I mean, she really hates me.”_

_“I couldn’t care less what she thinks. You’re the best part of my life,” Peeta says, tugging on her hand and turning her to face him. He pulls her into his arms and she tilts her head back, holding her breath as Peeta lowers his head to hers. Her toes curl in her shoes as they kiss._

_“Even better than landing an inverted 720?” she asks with a teasing smile as he lifts his head. Peeta shrugs._

_“I mean it’s close, but--” he doesn’t finish because she pinches his side. They need to keep moving if they’re going to finish the trail in time, so she slips from his embrace and takes his hand again as they walk. There’s no shortage of things to look at or talk about as they make their way._

_When they reach the rocks overlooking the valley, she hops up onto one. Flits from one rock to the next, all while holding Peeta’s hand._

_“If rocks were flowers, then you really are a hummingbird,” he teases and she makes a face at him._

_“I’m just glad we finally got our date,” Katniss says._

_“This doesn’t count as our date.”_

_“Why not?” Katniss scowls at him._

_“Because,” Peeta says, climbing up on the rock next to her. “When I take you on our first date, I want it to be something we wouldn’t do on an average Tuesday. I want it to be special for you.”_

_“This is special,” she says, not understanding._

_“I know, I guess I was just hoping for something more romantic.”_

_“Oh. And I guess khaki pants and muddy boots aren’t that romantic, huh?”_

_“I mean, they could be,” Peeta says. “If I’d remembered to bring a fancy tablecloth, some candles, and maybe some chocolate covered strawberries for our trail snack.”_

_She laughs and jumps to the next rock. It wobbles and she flings her arm out to catch her balance as Peeta steps behind her._

_Then the world tilts. Disappears from beneath her feet and rushes up in her vision. Peeta shouts. Air freezes in her throat. He somehow gets his arms around her. Twists their bodies. The sky. A loud crash below. Then a jolt. They bounce and roll, skidding into the valley. A burn on her arm. Pain in her skull._

_She opens her eyes, not remembering when she closed them. Everything hurts. Her head pounds and her stomach roils. She retches into the pine needles and calls Peeta’s name between heaves. Glances back up at the jagged teeth of rock far overhead._

_Nothing feels broken. Her head seems to have taken the worst of it. She feels his hands grabbing at her leg so she rolls over and winces at the pain in her chest. Freezes in place at the sight of him at her feet, the streaks of bloody handprints on her jeans._

_“Peeta?” She scurries towards him. Her hands hover over him, shaking as nausea and tears threaten to overwhelm her. She mutters to herself, unable to focus until he speaks._

_“Katniss, my leg feels weird.”_

_“Don’t touch it,” she says and yanks her bag off her back, pulls out her knife and her first aid kit and shoves the bag in his hands. “Hold this. Oh my god, I don’t… don’t try to move Peeta, just stay there and hold my bag.”_

_She can’t be sure he understood, her voice is choked and her ears still ringing. When she finally manages to cut open his torn jeans enough, she almost vomits again._

_Gauze. She needs gauze. There’s dirt. She tries to get the dirt out. Each swipe only means more blood. She tears open another pad. Presses it over the cut. It turns red. She adds another one and her already labored breathing becomes choppy._

_Blood. So much blood. There shouldn’t be that much blood. And his bone…she can see his bone._

_Cold down her spine. Useless. Her kit is useless. She tears at his belt. Canvas. Two metal loops. Wraps it. Around his thigh. Above the source of the blood. Cinching it down. Tighter, tighter still. Oh god, how tight is too tight? Too loose is bad. Yanks and pulls. Peeta’s lips are turning blue. Tears spill down her cheeks._

_“I’m so dizzy. Do you have water?”_

_“No!” She can’t remember why, she just knows he shouldn’t drink right now. “Where’s your phone?”_

_She doesn’t wait for an answer but tries to stand and crumples with the pain the second she puts pressure on her ankle. A quick glance tells her the bone hasn’t broken through so she grits her teeth and screeches as she forces herself to Peeta’s other side, searches his pocket for his phone._

_“Katniss.” Silence after. His head thuds on the ground._

_“Peeta!” she yells, hands smacking on his chest. His heart, still thundering in his chest. It’s enough._

_Her fingers slide over keys. She can’t read numbers. Not through the blood. There’s blood on her hands._

_9_

_1_

_1_

_SEND_

_Words pour out, confused words. Fast words. The world is fuzzy.  She can’t breathe she can’t breath._

_Instructions._

_She gets water out. Cleans the cut. Bandages._

_Time. Too much time._

_The growl of a four wheeler. More shouting and then hands._

_“Don’t touch him!” she screams, but she’s pulled back and wrapped in a blanket. She can’t see him. Why can’t she see him? Bouncing. Lights. The Juniper and rain._

_“Katniss, honey, look at me. Look at me,” her mother says. “Where does it hurt?”_

_“His leg, Mom his leg!”_

_“I know, Hummingbird. Where do you hurt?”_

_She tries to point and find him at the same time. She can’t move her arm._

_“Chest. Ankle. Head,” she croaks._

_“Fifteen year old, male. Compound fracture of the right femur. Severe laceration associated. Tourniquet applied. Swelling in both the right and left calves. Swelling in the right arm. Possible concussion. Patient is in shock.”_

_“Jesus, anything else?”_

_“Katniss?”_

_“Maybe. They fell off a forty foot cliff.”_

_“I’m here, Peeta!” she tries to break free of her mother’s hold but can’t. “Peeta! I’m over here!”_

_“Fifteen year old female. Swollen ankle. Possible cracked rib and concussion.”_

_“Katniss?!”_

_“Why can’t he hear me? Let me go! Peeta!” The hold on her tightens._

_“Katniss, stop moving! They have to check your spine.” The words mean nothing. A low rumble and loud whine._

_“When was this tourniquet applied?”_

_“What’s that sound? Katniss?”_

_“It’s a helicopter. They have to airlift you out of here, Peeta.”_

_Peeta’s leaving. That’s all she hears._

_“I have to go with him. Mom! I have to go with Peeta! He’s hurt!”_

_“I know, honey. His mom is with him. They’re taking good care of him, okay?”_

_“Get her inside.”_

_“Dad? I’m supposed to meet Katniss for our date. Gonna be late. Can you tell her?”_

_“Sure I can. Just hang in there.”_

_She can’t turn her head. She’s lifted and dips to the side. She just catches sight a helicopter touching down. A group of people running towards it, pushing a gurney. A door slams open and then bright light in her eyes and he’s gone._

_Peeta’s gone._

* * *

 

I hold my hand out flat in front of me. Watch it shake violently. It’s a good thing I’m not shooting today. I’d probably take out someone’s eye for real. I dreamt about it last night. The fall that ended everything. Or at least began the ending of it.

Only in my nightmares, there’s no sound. There wasn’t really while we were falling. At least not any that I can remember. It happened so fast. It’s the meeting with the earth that makes the noise. But in my nightmares… nothing makes a sound at all. Just endless falling and then emptiness.

In the days that followed, I played it in my head. Over and over. An endless nightmare loop as I tried to think if there was anything I could have done differently. Something that wouldn’t have cost Peeta his leg. In the end, I was just tormenting myself.

My mother insisted that I did exactly as I should. They were able to mend the break in his left leg. The one in his right arm. The broken ribs they found later on. Perhaps they could have repaired the multiple breaks his right leg suffered, even the compound fracture. But the cuts from bone breaking the surface combined with those from the jagged edges of the shattered rock that he landed partially on top of caused damage to too many blood vessels ...there was no fixing that, my mother assured me. If I hadn’t put that tourniquet on him, he would have bled out before they managed to find us, she said. I’m not so sure.

Dwelling on the past never fixes anything, but I’ve tried locking it away. Shutting the doors of my head and my heart against it, and that hasn’t worked either. I don’t know what to do anymore.

I draw my knees up, resting my feet on my chair and hugging my legs. I bury my face in my arms and search for a tear. Just one. Maybe I can cry it all away and get back to my training.

But it’s hopeless. I remain dry-eyed.

My tea is cold by the time I sit upright and rub at my itchy, dry eyes. Then I focus on some work. Mindless name and number entries. Data and information that might be of use to someone somewhere. I don’t know, I never really ask what they want with the answers to these questions. They seem silly.

_Where do you typically shop for groceries?_

_How much do you typically spend on a grocery trip?_

_Are you more likely to buy a product with a colorful endcap display or a product with no display, located in the middle of the aisle?_

_On a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to recommend Shop and Save stores to a friend?_

On a scale of one to ten, how likely am I to scratch my eyeballs out after reading and transcribing this drivel? I keep working, all the while asking the real questions in the back of my head.

_Can you forgive me?_

_Can you forgive me now, ten years later?_

_Can you love me like you once did?_

_Can I forgive you?_

My back aches when I’ve finished all the work in my drop box. I’m no closer to any answers and decide that even though it’s my day off, I need physical exertion to distract me. I’ll only train for half a day tomorrow. Pretty sure my zealot overlord won’t be working with me after what happened between us last night, anyways.

I grab my swimsuit and head to the pool. The water is warm and silky on my skin. I lose myself in the rhythmic strokes and the breathing. Speed isn’t my goal today. There’s no outrunning these demons anymore. I swim until my lungs ache. It’s only as I’m dressing that my muscles catch up and I have to massage a cramp out of my calf with my pants halfway up one leg. Typical.

When I manage to get myself put back together, at least physically, I head towards Rooba’s. I stop and slip around a corner into the shadows when I almost run headlong into Peeta and Eirik. They’re too absorbed in their conversation to notice me, thankfully. Peeta’s walking with his head down, shoulders slumped, and his hands in his pockets.

He looks so defeated. What happened to the Peeta who always knew the right thing to say or do? As they walk by me, I catch Eirik’s furious voice, speaking in Norwegian. Peeta answers him, only a word or two, but whatever it is only seems to irritate Gramps even more. He rarely gets angry, especially at Peeta. It makes me curious what they’re talking about.

After they pass, I slip into the store and grab a couple fresh bananas along with a microwave soup bowl. I’ve barely eaten all day and I rub my temple while Rooba swipes my card. When she hands it back to me, she grips it tight, not relinquishing until I look up at her. She stares at me like she’s trying to find something to say, but in the end, all that she says to me is:

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Everdeen. Hope to see you tomorrow.”

“Sure. You too,” I say as I hurry out of her presence. Does everyone here seem to know what’s going on between Peeta and I? Maybe they should try giving me some tips on how to fix it if they’re so smart and invested in us.

I slam my cabin door and spill soup on my hand as I’m prepping the bowl to microwave. When I finally get it heating, I scarf down the bananas and pace the kitchen. I’m restless and angry and I don’t know what.

“This isn’t working,” I tell no one in particular and march into my room. Prim was wrong. So wrong. Coming here was a mistake.

I grab my laptop and bring up the airline’s website to change my date of return. The microwave beeps twice while I’m navigating through the pages. Finally, I retrieve my soup and sit in front of the laptop screen as my results load.

“Mother fucker!” I yell as I burn my tongue on the soup. “Two hundred dollar change fee?!”

It’s too much. On top of everything else, it’s too much.

I slam the laptop shut and throw myself in bed, leaving my lava hot soup untouched on the kitchen table as I scream and bawl into my pillow. I can’t even escape anymore. Maybe bus fare to Colorado is cheaper.

I sleep, but at what cost? The dreams are worse than ever. When I finally wake to a loud pounding, I cover my head with my pillow. I can tell by the light in the room that I overslept, such as it is. I’m close to losing another day of training, but if that’s Peeta at my door -- which I doubt it is -- he’s the last person I want to see right now.

The pounding doesn’t cease and I finally force myself to stand, stumble to the front door and fling it open.

“What do you want?” I snap. Haymitch looks me over and scowls. I grab hold of my shock and return the expression. “You’re early.”

“And it’s a good thing I am. You look like shit, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you all start yelling at me and Katniss, here's a hug. Now take a deep breath and remember all that talk we've had about breadcrumbs and slow reveals???? Okay?...commence yelling. I can take it. 
> 
> My thanks to Buttercupbadass for looking this mess over before I posted it because yes yes, I have posted thousands of words of raunchy smut without batting an eye, but this chapter had me worried.
> 
> I am not a doctor, but I did my best. Please be kind in your corrections if you spot medical errors. <3 KDNFB


	10. A Quick Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE NEW WARNINGS: mentions of child abuse

_Katniss listens to her father making noncommittal grunts on the phone. Her eyelids flutter as she stares at the window, fighting against the pain medication slowly pulling her under. But she needs to know. She needs to know that Peeta’s okay._

_“Thank you for calling us, Eirik.”_

_Her mother squeezes her hand. “Sage?”_

_“They just brought him out of surgery. They had to amputate.”_

_“Oh no.”_

_The drugs win._

_She tries his phone but it goes straight to voicemail every time. She doesn’t even know if he has it with him or if got left on the valley floor. Instead she tries the number to the nurses station that Gramps gives her. The numbers blur red as she dials._

_“Can I speak with Peeta Mellark?”_

_“Who is this calling?”_

_“Katniss. His girlfr— his friend.”_

_“I’m sorry, miss. It’s outside visiting hours.”_

_“I’m sorry, miss. He’s asleep.”_

_“I’m sorry, miss. The doctors are currently with him.”_

_The excuses are endless. She calls at least twice a day, desperate to hear his voice. Gramps and Peeta’s father stop by to check on her before they leave to see Peeta. They tell her what they know from talking on the phone with Agnes. The full extent of his injuries. It will be a long fight, but he can recover. Katniss doesn’t mention that she hasn’t talked to him yet. She’s afraid of the blame she might see in their eyes._

_She needs the medication for the pain, but when she’s on it, she gets caught in sleep, unable to wake when the night visions begin. There is no relief in her sleep._

_She keeps calling. Begging them to tell him to call her when he can._

_“That may be awhile,” they say._

_“We’ll tell his mother you called,” they say._

_“Of course, Miss.”_

_They are empty words. Peeta doesn't call. Her parents have no luck getting through either. She knows he’s probably laid up in bed. In and out of surgery. Drugged up on a million painkillers. But she just wants to hear his voice. Just for a minute. Even if he’s slurring and not making any sense._

_She begins to think she might go mad. Stuck in bed most of the day. Unable to travel to see him, unable to reach him on the phone. She needs to do something._

_“Can I somehow borrow a laptop?” she asks her parents on the day they bring her home. When she can’t stand it for one more second and she’s finally thought of something she can do. Peeta’s always been there for her, no matter what. And even though she blames herself for everything from the fall itself -- she should have been more careful -- to the loss of his leg -- she never should have used that tourniquet -- she’s determined to be there for him when he comes home._

_“I suppose so,” her father says. “What do you plan on doing with it?”_

_“Learning about prosthetic legs.”_

_Her parents share a look, but her dad comes back a few hours later with Thom, who sets up his laptop and a router in their cabin for her. She spends every waking moment learning about prosthetic legs that first day. Her mother sits with her the second day, reassuring Katniss through crying fits when she’s convinced it’s all her fault, drying her daughter’s eyes so she can learn about adaptive sports. There’s even a group nearby. They only have skiing, not snowboarding, but Katniss figures that’s better than nothing. It’s the first time she smiles since the accident._

_Haymitch is with her on the third day, when she’s got her fresh cast on and the concern has finally ebbed over her two broken ribs. Her parents gone with Prim for a ballet recital. When Haymitch is down the hall getting a coffee, Katniss dials the number she now has memorized for a hospital four hours away._

_“Just one moment, miss.”_

_She nearly cries with joy as it rings once, but all the joy vanishes at the first word spoken in the wrong voice._

_“Yes?”_

_“Can I please talk to Peeta?”_

_“Who is this?”_

_“It’s Katniss.” No response. “Katniss Everdeen? Please, Mrs. Mellark. I just want to talk to him for a minute.”_

_“Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?” All the air is sucked from her lungs. “You ruined his life and nearly killed him. Why should he even want to talk to you?”_

_“I —“_

_“Exactly. I allowed his little infatuation with you to continue for this long because I expected him to grow out of it once he got what he needed, and move on to a nice girl who actually deserves him. Instead, this happens to him. I won’t allow you to destroy his life any further and thankfully he’s finally starting to listen to me about you.”_

_She keeps going as Katniss sits there in a fog, only one thing getting through clearly._

_Peeta doesn’t even want to talk to her._

_Katniss hangs up when Agnes is mid tirade. Unable to hear anymore. She stares at the cast on her leg. When she hears Haymitch’s footsteps approaching her room, she lays back and feigns sleep._

_Her parents call to say they’re dropping Prim at a friend’s house for a sleepover and then they’ll be home with dinner. Is there something special Katniss wants?_

_“Whatever is easiest is fine,” she tells them and goes back to staring out her window._

_That’s the last time she hears their voices._

* * *

 

“There she is,” Haymitch says as he leans back in his chair in front of the huge fireplace. Eirik gives me a cursory look before examining his pieces on the chess board and basically ignoring me. I tug on my sleeve and glance around the lobby.

“I sent him up to deal with some maintenance issues on one of the lifts. You have at least an hour or two before he returns,” Eirik says without looking up at me. Shame doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel right now.

“Have a seat,” Haymitch says, pushing the third chair towards me with his foot. I sit, waiting for the lecture that never comes. They continue their chess game in silence while I sit there and stew. Haymitch ordered me to shower and make myself presentable, then to meet him at the lodge and now that I’m here, he’s got nothing to say?

“Do you notice something, my dear?” Eirik finally asks. I stare at the board for a moment.

“You’re about to lose your bishop?” Eirik leans forward and curses in Norwegian. Haymitch laughs.

“My grandson has been going easy on me. I am out of practice and have already lost two games this morning.”

“At least he’s going easy on someone around here,” I mutter. Eirik moves his bishop to safety.

“How’s that sprint time looking?” Haymitch asks and I glare at him. Before I can retort, Eirik speaks again.

“I understand that you will be leaving us soon, returning to Colorado for work and summer training. It is important to prepare for next season, of course. I hope that when you leave, you will have found what you came here looking for. But I must ask again. Do you notice something? Or rather...is there someone not here for you to notice since you returned to us?”

I shrug and pluck at my sleeve again. “A lot of people have left in the past ten years. I haven’t seen the Cartwrights or the MacKenzies or…”

I trail off as I do a mental tally and come up one Mellark short. I glance up at Eirik, eyes wide as it sinks in. He rests his elbows on the table, propping his chin on his folded hands and eyes me, his gaze serious. I know where Graham is -- he lives in Utah with his wife and four kids, travels frequently for his sport. Ryen does the same, only minus the wife and kids, still a perpetual player. Bram Mellark moved with them and opened his own restaurant in Salt Lake. He’s often with the older boys at their competitions. Sometimes I see them from afar. Sometimes when they're in Colorado Springs. More often in the news reels of obscure sports stations. But now that I think about it, I haven’t seen a sign of Agnes Mellark in a long time. Both the older boys have had new coaches for years. I’d always just assumed it was because they finally got tired of her shit.

“But...why?”

“It was a tricky thing, to be certain. But thankfully, I already knew a pair of excellent lawyers in the business of protecting children and family. I just never thought I would need to hire them to protect my own grandchildren. Or to use their services against my own daughter.”

Confused, I shake my head. I’m still missing something here.

“I don’t --”

“Who the hell do you think paid for those fancy lawyers that got your guardianship switched to me?” Haymitch asks. “Mickey Mouse?”

I look between the two of them as the realization sinks in. That even after I left, even after I rejected them all, Eirik at least, was still looking out for me, and for Prim.

“We can discuss that another time.” Eirik dismisses what I know must be a look of shock on my face. “For a long time after the accident, Peeta’s recovery was far slower than expected. He healed physically, but his mind always seemed elsewhere. We all thought it was depression that Peeta was fighting. Concerning to be sure, but understandable given the extent of his injuries. And indeed, that was part of the equation, but not the whole of it. It was a real piece of luck when Bram overheard her calling him ‘useless’ amongst other things one day. Otherwise, there is no telling how much more damage she would have done before we realized what she was doing. We took measures afterwards to heal the damage but, I am...not sure that he’s ever fully recovered from it.”

I think of the awful things she said to me ten years ago. At the time, I didn’t question it because everything she said to me was rooted in my deepest fears after the accident. That Peeta would blame me. Hate me. Never forgive me or want me again.

The pieces move into place in my head and I fall silent, thinking back over all the times Peeta’s pulled away from me the past few days. How like his old self he still is but with an air of caution about him. At times it feels like I never left and others, there’s still that huge rift.

And I wonder now, is it because there’s a voice warning him to retreat? To stay distant from me? Is it his mother’s poisonous voice in his head? What did she do to him? Did she do the same thing to him that she did to me? Find our worst fears and dig her way into our minds to tear us apart? Because that would explain it. All of it. The unanswered phone calls and years of silence. Even why he wasn’t there for me, for the first time ever, when my parents both died that awful night. Because the Peeta who fell off that cliff with me would have moved mountains for me. He would have found a way around the painkillers and the injuries.

And while we’re at it, why is Peeta still snowboarding but not competing?

“How come you never told me?” I ask them both.

“I am ashamed to admit that my pride was at fault. I kept things from Haymitch until recently that I should have shared with him and you. When Haymitch called to arrange having you come here, I was quite honestly thrilled. I believed that things would naturally work themselves out. When I realized that was not going to be the case, I confessed everything to Haymitch,” Eirik admits. “I was foolishly expecting it to be too easy. Can you forgive me, dear Hummingbird? Perhaps not today, but one day?”

I don’t know what to say so I nod and look at Haymitch for an answer. “You don’t listen to me anyways. Always needed to do the math yourself. Why do you think I wanted to send you back here in the first place?”

He glances back at the board and moves a piece.

“Checkmate,” Haymitch says and Eirik grumbles.

“We will have a rematch, yes?”

“I’ve got nothing else to do right now,” Haymitch says. “Unless sweetheart here wants me to accompany her to the treadmills and comment on her poor form.”

I shake my head as they watch me expectantly. “No. I can coach myself today.”

“Bright and early in the morning, then,” Haymitch says. “I expect some kind of progress from when I last saw you.”

I nod and hurry back to my cabin to change into my workout clothes. I pace for a moment, still digesting everything that Eirik and Haymitch told me. I’m famished now and take my forgotten soup from yesterday to reheat it in the microwave. Then I resume my pacing in the living room as I try to formulate a plan.

My foot connects with the box beneath my coffee table and I glare at it. But then I pull it out and set it on top of the table. I know Prim meant for me to use this as a way to remind me why I should stay when I felt like leaving, but I figure that using it to bolster my courage, to solidify my fledgling determination is still within the spirit of the survival kit. So I grab the half mangled envelope labeled “2” and pull out the framed picture.

I smile down at the two girls with bows in their hands and smiles on their faces. Prim’s missing both her front teeth. Slowly, I walk towards the mantle in the room and set it next to the framed picture of me with Dad from envelope one.

I know what she’s trying to say to me, across all these miles. That my past doesn’t have to be separate from my present. That it can never really be severed from me. So I might as well turn and face it.

My mother spinning in a field of wildflowers, like Maria from _The Sound of Music_ , Prim and I beside her, from envelope three. I’m not surprised when envelope four contains a framed picture of me and Peeta. Sitting in the snow, drinking hot chocolate, his board still attached to his feet and a goofy look on my face.

Envelope five: Me with all three Mellark boys sitting on a wide ski lift, arms spread to keep each other from falling off and laughter on our lips. A tangle of skis and poles and board. Gramps had told us to “Say ‘cheese!’” But as a joke, he used the Norwegian word...ost. And then Bram Mellark had told us we all looked like we were eating invisible popsicles when we said it. We laughed and Gramps took the picture. That was the first day of good snow the last year we were all together. Gramps had asked us to give the slopes a trial run since he wanted discerning eyes on it.

I stand back and look over my new display. And I remember now why I started. Or maybe not the why, I realize as my chest swells and my nose starts to run. I always knew why, but somewhere along the trail, I lost the how.

Not the techniques, but the emotions. I shut myself off from them after my world came crashing down. Carefully filtered them and turned myself into a machine, focused with single-minded determination on the goal. And in doing so, I lost every bit of joy I ever had in my life.

Envelope six was the hummingbird charm from Dad. I carefully pull out envelope seven and tear off the top, both excited and anxious for what I will find. I flip it over and an old iPod falls out into my palm, the bright green ear buds still plugged in. I close my eyes and fight back tears. I can cry later.

She even included the charging cord, but when I push the center button, it comes to life, telling me that she charged it before packing it. I scroll through the playlists Peeta carefully selected years ago and loaded for me so I would have music even when he couldn’t be with me, overwhelmed with the thought and care Prim put into this. Her ability to hold onto so many precious mementos of our childhood through all of the turmoil of our lives. Even when she was only eleven years old.

The microwave beeps and I glance into the kitchen. But I don’t move yet. I take a deep breath and acknowledge a few inescapable truths.

If I do this, it is going to hurt. A lot.

I might make things worse.

I am not free of blame in this mess and I will have to face that.

But if there’s a chance, even a tiny bit of an outside chance at repairing what was broken...then I want to take it.

I shift the picture of Peeta and me to the right a little, setting the iPod next to it, and smile at the girl and the boy with big dreams.

“It’s not too late,” I tell them, and then I go eat my soup. I’m going to need a full stomach for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes I did just answer one of your questions and give you another one to contemplate. Gotta keep ya'll invested somehow. ;-)


	11. A Rude Awakening

_She stands in front of the phone in her black dress, leaning on her crutches. Haymitch and Prim are in the kitchen, fixing dinner. Katniss is not hungry. She stares at the red number nineteen._

_Nineteen messages. What could nineteen people possibly have to say that could heal this pain?_

_She pushes play. Listens to the disembodied voice sending condolences and offering any help they can. Regrets that they couldn’t be at the funeral. She deletes it before the message is over. Prayers and condolences don’t bring her parents back. The next one is the same. So is the next. Finally she just holds down the delete button until the number reads zero._

_Nothing._

_Then she unplugs the phone for good measure and goes to bed without dinner. Tomorrow will be even worse…_

_“Katniss Everdeen?”_

_Prim sniffles. “Can I come too?”_

_“Right now I’d like to talk to your big sister alone, if that’s okay. I’ll leave the door open so you can see her the whole time.”_

_“I’ll be right back, Duck,” Katniss says, hugging her sister and kissing her on the top of her head._

_She stands slowly and follows the social worker into the office._

_“Please have a seat, Miss Everdeen. Now, I know this is difficult to discuss or even think about right now, which is why I wanted to speak with you first, since you are the oldest.” Katniss sets aside her crutches and watches the woman pour a mug of coffee from a machine in the corner of the office. She hates the smell of coffee._

_Her father drank coffee. He always smelled like the freshly roasted beans. Not like this woman’s burned grounds sitting for too long in the filter. Used for one too many brews._

_“Usually this is fairly straightforward since your parents’ will lists a clear guardian who is a family member.”_

_Katniss shifts in her seat as the woman asks some uncomfortable questions that Katniss has no answer for. Like “Why have you had so little contact with your aunt?” In the end, she doesn’t think it matters. The social worker stresses that her parents’ will left guardianship of the two girls to relatives, an aunt and her husband… strangers in Michigan, and that it is difficult to change after a judge officially names the guardians. Katniss figures her mother and father must have had a reason for writing their will that way and never changing it._

_“However, we’ve had a petition contesting your parents’ last wishes. From an Eirik Tjaland.” She tries not to flinch in surprise. “He has petitioned for guardianship of both you and your sister. I must warn you that this would not be an easy path since your parents’ will clearly names Mr. and Mrs. Henderson as your guardians. It can be done, though.”_

_Katniss grabs the hem of her skirt and twists the fabric in her hands. Her palms start to sweat. She fixates on a mole beneath the woman’s right ear. Cecily? Cecelia? Whatever. She keeps talking about extenuating circumstances and other things. Katniss can’t focus on the words enough to absorb it all._

_“I understand that this man was your parents’ employer?” She nods in answer. “And you were close to him?” Nothing. Katniss won’t admit a thing that could give away how hurt she is right now. “It would mean that you could stay here, at your home.”_

_“No,” Katniss says and the social worker blinks._

_“You don’t want to hear his petition?”_

_“He’s not my family.” Not anymore._

* * *

 

“Before we do this…” Haymitch says as we stand outside the door to the owners’ suite. I haven’t been in here in ten years and I’m bouncing on my toes, a little nervous.

“What?” I ask.

“No coddling. Understood?” When I look up at him, I know he’s not joking. I nod once. “And just remember...this was your idea.”

Then I reach out and knock. Eirik answers the door and motions us inside.

“Third door down the hallway. Breakfast is in the kitchen,” he says before wheeling himself silently towards the elevators that lead to the offices, but I catch the smile on his face as he goes.

“Alright then,” Haymitch says, leading the way to Peeta’s room. He slams the door open and marches in. “Get your ass out of bed now, Cupcake!”

“Argh!” Peeta flies upright as Haymitch flings open the curtains, admitting the blinding glare of light off the snow.

I stand silently by the door, attempting to look bored and not like I want to take a good look around at Peeta’s room. To see what changes have been made in the past ten years. Haymitch spins to face Peeta, who pulls his sheet up to his chest while I swallow my groan. He sleeps shirtless. I’m already sweating and we haven’t even started yet.

Hold it together, Katniss, I remind myself.

“What are you waiting for? Are you just some slacker boarder? I don’t coach slackers! Get up! Get dressed! Get your flabby ass in the kitchen for breakfast! You’ve skipped one too many training days and now we have to make up for it!”

“What the —?” Peeta starts to ask but Haymitch lumbers over to the chest of drawers and starts yanking them open. He flings a shirt over his shoulder at Peeta and then a pair of track pants, finishing with a sock.

“Stop talking, Cupcake! Save your breath for the workout you’ve got coming and get moving! Olympians aren’t made in a day, you know!”

Peeta rubs the heel of his palm onto one eye and seems to have gathered at least some of his wits. Now for the real test. When we find out how well I still know him.

“Nice to see you too, Haymitch. I think you might be confused—“

“Is that sarcasm?! Sweetheart, tell Cupcake what happens to sarcastic little shits with me!”

“Extra push ups,” I venture.

“That’s right. Until your arms are too sore to wipe your own ass! Now move it!” He stomps out of the room and I move to follow.

“Katniss, what’s going on?” Peeta asks and I bite my lip, keep following Haymitch.

 _Just get up and get dressed,_ I silently plead. I’m already seated at the table eating the breakfast Eirik prepared for us this morning when Peeta joins us. He’s dressed in the clothes Haymitch threw at him plus a pair of sneakers, but his hair is still tousled from sleep. My pulse flutters and I hide my smile behind a bite of granola.

“Better. Now eat.”

“I’m —“

“Did I stutter, Cupcake? Eat! Your grandfather has released you for the day. Which means you’re all mine so don’t even try to use your job as an excuse.”

Peeta drops into the chair next to me and starts eating. I can tell he’s still confused by what’s going on. We eat for a moment, swift and silent until Haymitch gets distracted by the smoked salmon Eirik left as part of our breakfast.

“When did the runaway drill sergeant get here?” Peeta whispers around his food.

“Yesterday,” I mutter back. “Just shut up and eat your pears. Do what he says, don’t look him in the eye, and you’ll be fine.”

“If you can talk then you’re not eating! If you’re not eating then you’re ready for a workout! MOVE!”

He marches us down to the fitness centers and puts us on the treadmills to warm up our muscles and then settles in the corner with a sports magazine. Every now and then he’ll shout out new speeds or inclines for us.

“About yesterday,” Peeta says as our feet pound on the belts and the whirring keeps our conversation hidden from Haymitch. “I’m sorry. I should have told you I couldn’t meet up with you.”

“You’re just sorry that you’re getting a taste of your own medicine,” I say back and his already flushed cheeks turn redder.

“I wasn’t that bad was I?”

“Depends. Would you rather have your coach yelling or being silently judgmental?”

“If you can talk, you’re going too slow! Punch it up! Five miles an hour faster!”

Peeta swears under his breath but does it. After the treadmills, we hit the weight room. Haymitch stalks between the two of us, muttering his own brand of sarcastic encouragement. I try not to salivate every time I catch a glimpse of Peeta’s arm muscles flexing.

“Is he always like this?” Peeta asks as we hover shoulder to shoulder in a plank between push up sets.

“No. This is his pleasant side.”

“Lovely. For a moment there I was worried your slump was because he wasn't pushing you hard enough.”

I snort and it earns us ten more push ups. We’re back on the treadmills when Peeta finally gets to meatier questions.

“Remind me again why I’m being punished?” he asks around his pants.

“Paralympics. Korea,” I huff out and his step stutters for a moment before he regains his rhythm. He’s silent for the rest of our run.

“Alright, I suppose that’s acceptable,” Haymitch decreases both our speeds to walking and sets the timer for ten minutes. “Cool off, stretch, hydrate, get showered and then we hit the trails in an hour. I expect better times today, Sweetheart. You both get wall sits if I don’t, got it? Oh and don’t get comfortable, Cupcake. The only reason we’re focusing on her this afternoon is because you’re out of shape and we have to build you back up gradually. You better be ready to hit the slopes tomorrow.”

Haymitch leaves us alone. Nows my chance, but as we walk in silence, the words tangle up on my tongue.

“I’m still confused as to why I’m on this treadmill,” Peeta says and I shrug.

“You followed his orders.”

“He’s scary.”

I laugh and Peeta smiles at me. But as it so often has the past week, the smile is gone in seconds. “Look, I think I get what you’re trying to do here, but I haven’t competed in anything more strenuous than Thursday night bingo in ten years.”

“Not even a game of beer pong in college?” I ask.

“Someone once told me I can’t hit the side of a barn with a dump truck, so you can see my reason for abstaining.”

“Okay bad example,” I admit. “You hopped out of bed pretty fast for someone not interested in competing.”

“I thought we’d already established that Haymitch is scary. Besides, I figured we were focusing on you.”

“And yet you did the whole workout.”

“I could use a good workout.”

“No, I don’t believe that’s it for a second. I think you miss it. I think you still get that tingle down your spine when you’re flying down a mountain, and then that rush when you finish a run, reach a goal, nail a hard turn, stick a landing.”

“That doesn't mean I want to throw myself back in the game. Katniss, it’s been years. I seriously doubt that I can get back up to snuff in a year.”

“Five months,” I correct.

“What?”

“Para-snowboarding season starts in September in New Zealand. You might want to go ahead and apply for your passport.”

“I stand corrected. There’s no way.”

“Not with that attitude,” I say. His doubt in himself hurts like a knife, but I sense that he’s running out of excuses. That I only have a little further to push him.

“I’ve got a lot going on here that I can’t just drop, no matter how tempting it sounds.”

I nod slowly and stop my treadmill. “Then I have to ask...out of curiosity. If you still felt something when you were doing it, then why did you stop?”

He stares at me with a blank look on his face, but I know it’s because I’ve hit the right nerve. _Gotcha_ , I think triumphantly. I grab my towel and flip it over my shoulder.

“See you in an hour, Peeta.”


	12. A Painful Conversation

_Flat._

_It’s the best word Katniss can think of for Michigan as the social worker drives them from the tiny airport out to a remote farm. There’s a dull ache in her heart that started sometime during the packing and hasn’t left. Maybe a side-effect from the new pills she’s on for pain._

_She stares up at the house, a neat clapboard painted blue, as the car comes to a stop. Squeezing Prim’s hand in hers one last time, she climbs from the car, keeping one eye on the driver as he handles her skis in their case._

_“Oh! Well aren’t you beautiful!” The blonde woman greeting them looks vaguely like their mother and Katniss recoils from her touch. It’s not necessary. The words and the embrace are aimed at Prim, who is beautiful. Just as their mother was. Aunt Matilda clearly thinks the same. “You look just like your mother.”_

_The words precede a loud, quick burst of tears. Her tall, skinny husband places a hand on her shoulder to comfort her._

_“Thank you, Aunt Matilda,” Prim says._

_“Please come in, girls. You must be so exhausted.” Katniss steps onto the porch behind Prim and Aunt Matilda's eyes sweep over her. “And Katniss. You’re so...sturdy.”_

_Katniss stares at her, wondering if she’s just been insulted. And why, if Matilda Henderson loved her sister as much as she appears to right now, she couldn’t be bothered to travel to Wyoming for the funeral or to collect her nieces._

_They’re given the tour of the house. Shown to their room. They will have to share. That’s fine, Prim tells them. They’re used to a small living space._

_“Oh well we have plenty of room here. My husband can provide very well for his family.”_

_Katniss feels her spine stiffen, her crutches digging into her armpits. Their room is small but clean. A pair of lavender bedspreads on twin beds, flanked by white dressers. A table in the corner with a porcelain tea set and dolls in the chairs._

_“This is Grace, your cousin.” Katniss stares at the girl. She’s the same age as Katniss, her honey blonde hair in a high ponytail and her lips shimmering with lipgloss. Freckles on her nose and short denim shorts._

_“Everyone at school calls me Glimmer, though. We’re gonna be great friends,” the girl says and then offers to help Prim unpack._

_“This is your home now, girls, and we’re family. So anything you need, just let me or your Uncle David know, okay?” Aunt Matilda says._

_They’re given chores around the farm. Katniss likes the ones that send her away from the tidy house. Away from Glimmer’s perky comments that sound like they might be funny but feel wrong somehow. Away from Aunt Mathilda’s pursed lips and concerned eyes. Away from Uncle Dave’s gazes that linger somewhere below her face and make her uncomfortable for reasons she can’t quite pinpoint._

_Her cast comes off. Her ribs are pronounced mended. She wakes gasping for air from nightmares of falling and lost friends. The air here feels heavy and thick. Pungent instead of fragrant. Sometimes she feels like she’s choking on it._

_She answers questions two words at a time. Tells no one about the visions that torment her at night. Prim figures it out anyways and sometimes wakes her from them. Prim says it’s because she can’t sleep and asks Katniss to sing to her. Katniss sings, but only for Prim. The lyrics sound dull. The tunes lifeless. But Prim still asks._

_“How’s the place?” Haymitch asks her when he calls one day._

_“Fine. They have cows,” Katniss tells him. He grunts in response._

_“We can get you up to Canada if you want some early prep time for the season. I’ll talk to the Hendersons, see if we can arrange it.”_

_“Maybe,” she says._

_“You got something else going on?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_She wanders further on the farm and spends the late summer afternoons sprawled in pastures, staring at the blue sky, listening to the cows lowing, and wishing for her mountains and her trees and everything that belongs to them._

_She buries her fingers in warm earth and waits for the snow. Prim seems to be adjusting well to living here. That’s all that matters._

_“Do you know how much airfare is to some of these places? Finland? What’s a fifteen year old girl doing traveling to Finland?”_

_Katniss washes the dishes and hands them to Prim while Uncle Dave and Aunt Matilda talk at the table._

_“I don’t know honey. That man said she was very competitive. I do buy all their things second hand.”_

_“It’s not enough to make up this kind of difference. Tell her to pick a normal, cheaper sport. Soccer or some shit.”_

_Their new school is small. Some of the kids stare when she walks in with Prim, holding hands._

_Glimmer introduces Katniss to her friends, who all want to know if she can make moccasins or leather dresses for them. If she knows how to use a bow and arrow. If she has a more native name than “Katniss” or a boyfriend back in Wyoming._

_“No,” she tells them and the air grows awkward in the silence when she doesn’t clarify which question that answers._

_“You’re embarrassing me,” Glimmer hisses after their last class._

_Katniss brings home straight A’s but ends up in the office all the time for “back talking to the teachers.” Aunt Matilda shakes her head and laments that she’s “so disappointed.” Oddly enough, Aunt Matilda reminds Katniss of Agnes Mellark in those moments. Eventually, Katniss learns to keep her mouth shut and her head down. To never let her feelings show. Never let anyone see her pain. She still brings home straight A’s but she fades into the back of the classroom._

_Haymitch calls to tell her he’s found someone to sponsor her if the Henderson’s can’t afford it. She has a pretty good idea who it is. She refuses to take anymore of his money. Now that she’s no longer part of his family. He’s just doing it to be nice. Besides, he needs it now for more important things._

_“I think I should take a break this year. Maybe next year,” she tells Haymitch. There’s a long pause._

_“If that’s what you want.”_

_Aunt Matilda takes Prim shopping for clothes at the thrift stores and helps her dress them up, alter them into something new or beautiful. Katniss gets Glimmer’s cast-offs. They’re too big, since Glimmer’s taller and her breasts and hips are larger. Katniss asks Aunt Matilda to help her alter them._

_“They’re fine the way they are! Why would you want to destroy such a beautiful blouse?”_

_Katniss alters them in secret and accepts the disappointed looks from her aunt when she rips off sleeves and layers shirts, her pants turn into patchwork versions of themselves, with stripes down the seams and tucked into the tops of her boots. She paints feathers onto silk blouses and dreams of cold wind across her face._

_The first time it snows enough, Katniss leaps out of bed and falls to the floor, searching underneath for her skis and wax. She needs to be on them. Sometimes she thinks it’s the only place she’ll ever know who she truly is. Her heart sinks as all she finds are dust bunnies and a few of Glimmer’s discarded_ Seventeen _magazines._

_“Have you seen my skis?” Katniss asks as Aunt Matilda pulls biscuits from the oven._

_“Oh honey, we didn’t think you’d need those anymore. We don’t have any mountains. Uncle Dave sold them to pay for the last of your hospital bills. We’ll sign you up for soccer in the spring. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”_

_Katniss doesn’t bother telling Aunt Matilda that her skis weren’t for downhill. That she could have used them just fine in the pastures. She doubts Aunt Matilda would understand what that means._

_“Katniss, I don’t like it here,” Prim whispers that first Christmas Eve, after they’ve returned from church and they’re lying in bed._

_“It’ll be fine in the morning,” Katniss says. “Aren’t you excited about presents?”_

_“No. I miss Mom and Dad.”_

_“I know, Duck,” Katniss says as silent tears leak from her eyes. Prim climbs into the bed beside Katniss and they wrap themselves around each other._

_“I’m sorry they sold your skis.”_

_Eventually, Katniss doesn’t have to hide the pain. She stops feeling it instead._

* * *

 

For two days, Haymitch drives us hard, leaving little room for idle conversation. There’s only so many days left until the snows melt enough to be useless to us and we will have to travel elsewhere or find more creative ways to train. We harden our bodies against pain and fatigue, force ourselves into strength and endurance. We don’t talk about the past or the future. Only short, clipped phrases about now.

Peeta won’t let me quit. And I won’t let him. This was always what made us stronger together. Both of us demanding that the other step up and fulfill our potential. Seeing strength in the other where we only see weakness in ourselves. Our belief in each other and how we feed off the certainty of our own success because we see it in the other’s eyes. The eyes of someone who loves us.

Love.

Yes, I admit on day two as I watch Peeta cut across a banked slalom course Eirik had the crews build and groom so Peeta can get used to the feel of running a groomed race course again. I still love him. I don’t know in what way, since I still know so little about his life in the between, or if he could still love me, but I know that one of these days soon, we will have to face our past and the damage done to us both.

I become familiar with his body again. How he moves, the cadence of his breaths. We relearn each other’s limits and how to push past them or cover for each other until we can go on. It’s an old, familiar dance that we resume with ease.

At night, I try not to dwell on the feelings he stirs in me. That he has always stirred in me. The first one to do so. Maybe even the only one, at least to this level of need. Anyone else in my past feels like a distraction, a temporary stopping point on the road back to him, with little depth or meaning to the meeting.

During the day, I try not to get caught staring.

My times start to drop. The number of shots I make starts to rise.

“Acceptable,” Haymitch pronounces as I cross the finish line he’s painted in the snow and he clicks his stopwatch. His mouth is twisted in what I know is a smile he’s trying to keep from me. It means I’m back where I need to be. He shows me my time and I nod. “Snow storm tonight. Probably our last for the year. Take the morning to relax and we’ll hit it hard in the afternoon. Good job today.”

“Wow,” Peeta says as Haymitch climbs into the Subaru he borrowed from ski patrol, and I’m left heaving for air. “Did he just say something nice?”

“Don’t...get...used...to it.”

“Here,” Peeta says and stands behind me, hands on my hips. He walks and pushes me forward on my skis towards the lodge. “You just focus on staying upright.”

“Thanks,” I say as my knees wobble, but I manage not to embarrass myself. I am starting to get cold, the wind finally reaching me through my ski suit since I’m sweating and I no longer have motion and exertion to keep me warm. Peeta bends over and helps me out of my skis when we reach the lodge. Then he takes my arm and drapes it over his shoulder, carries my skis as we hobble inside. He leads me to the giant fireplace and eases me into a chair. Unzips his coat and drapes it around my shoulders.

“You looked good out there today,” he says as he takes my poles and zips me up in his coat. I warm up quickly as I sip from the water bottle he hands me.

“You weren’t doing so bad yourself there, Cupcake.” Peeta actually smiles at the name Haymitch has given him.

“Speaking of cupcakes, they usually put some fresh ones out at the cafe around this time. I think twenty-nine out of thirty shots made today deserves some celebration.”

“Haymitch would be furious at us for failing our diet.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Troublemaker.”

“Are you afraid of him?” Peeta teases with a smile. There’s something almost playful in his blue eyes that I can’t resist. It’s been so long since I’ve seen that spark in him.

“You bring the cupcakes. I’ve got milk and chocolate for cocoa in my cabin,” I say. I hand his coat back and retrieve mine from the ski locker where I left it along with my snow pants, fatigue forgotten as I race to shower and look a little less like I spent the afternoon skiing five kilometers.

I’m cleaned up and I’ve got the milk warming, chocolate chips melting into dark swirls when there’s a knock on the door. I turn down the burner and hurry to answer. Peeta stands on my porch, looking a lot like an animal who’s just realized he’s wandered into someone’s crosshairs. It makes my heart ache.

“Come on in. Hot chocolate’s almost ready.” I relieve him of the box with the cupcakes and take them to the kitchen. He pauses by the front door to remove his boots and then joins me.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asks as he unzips his coat and drapes it over the back of a chair.

“Get out plates and mugs?”

It’s only a few seconds of work, but having his hands busy seems to help Peeta relax. I know it helps me.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” I say as we settle at the table with our forbidden snack, “where did you meet Finnick and the others?”

I can see his shoulders and his face relax almost immediately. Like he knows, the same as I do, that there are questions we need to ask of each other. Answers only the other one can give. But neither of us are quite prepared to face the pain of it just yet. Cupcakes first. We’re both fooling ourselves if we think that’s going to soften the blow.

“At school, in California.”

“Like at a big snowboarders anonymous convention or something?”

“No,” Peeta chuckles and I take a first bite of cupcake. They’re fucking delicious. Worth any lecture or extra laps in the pool Haymitch might give us as punishment.

“Finnick literally ran into me on campus the first week. He was showing off or something on his skateboard and the trick went awry. Instead of getting pissed off, I told him what he’d done wrong. He was kicking his feet out too soon. Anyways, turns out we lived in the same dorm hall.”

“That’s so cute,” I say. “Have you picked out names for your kids already?”

“Haha. No, but I’ve told him he better make me his kids’ godfather or I’m telling Annie everything I know,” Peeta says as he pulls out his phone and swipes for a moment before handing it to me. It’s a picture of Finnick and a beautiful girl with green eyes to match his and a bright smile. His arms around her, both of them dressed in board shorts and t-shirts. Her soft brown waves and his wild copper ones blowing in an ocean breeze, the ocean’s waves at their back. They look so happy together. Completely in love.

“This is Annie? Does she surf too?”

“Ranked fifth in the world right now,” Peeta says.

“Wow. So how come she wasn’t here with him?”

“She hates the cold,” Peeta explains. “Finnick and Jo were already friends. Knew each other as kids in Maui or something. Darius we collected when Finnick and I had a class together. Big auditorium with over two hundred students in it, but we were running late and the only two open seats were on either side of this guy who was completely wracked out and snoring.”

“Did you at least wake him up for class?” I ask, leaning on my arms on the table. I like hearing these things about Peeta’s life. Knowing that there were good moments, happy ones spent with friends. I just wish I could have shared them with him sooner. I push the thought away as he smiles.

“No, we waited until about ten minutes in and then Finnick whispered in a panicked voice, ‘Dude, wake up! He’s giving us a test!’ I’ve never seen anyone sit up that fast.”

I laugh at the mental image and Peeta drops a second cupcake on my plate before I can even ask if there’s more.

“So then Pollux and Castor?”

“Lake Tahoe, spring break. We kept seeing this guy with a different girl every time and Darius was pretty much in awe of his game. Kept stopping him to ask him how he did it. They played off it for hours. At one point, Johanna noticed the other twin and pointed him out to Finnick and me, but we just couldn’t let Darius off the hook. Of course, they’ve gotten all of us at some point.”

Peeta asks about Prim and our life in Colorado. I tell him about my boring jobs that I take to keep the cash coming and Prim’s cat, Buttercup, “I swear the thing hates me. I think he’s plotting my demise most of the time.”

I show him a picture on my phone of Prim snuggled with the thing and he laughs.

“That is the ugliest fucking cat I’ve ever seen.”

“I know, right?” I say as I set the phone aside. “She swears he’s an angel, though. She found him in the middle of a fight with two other alley cats. He was winning, even with a broken leg, one eye, and half his left ear gone. So she brought him home to patch him up and he just never left. I still say that he was winning because of the awful case of fleas he had. The other cats just couldn’t handle Buttercup plus fleas.”

“Prim always did have a soft spot for wounded animals,” Peeta says.

“Drove my Dad insane. Remember the time she brought home a coyote that was hurt?” Peeta laughs at the memory and it’s only after I’ve said it that I realize what I’ve done. I toy with the end of my braid and bite my lip. Wait for the fall.

When the laughter fades, Peeta clears his throat and tilts his mug to stare at the bottom. “Is there any more?”

“I think so,” I say, grateful for something to do.

“I’ll, um, start up your fireplace if you want to sit in there,” he says and I nod. I knew this was coming, but now that it’s here, I’m not sure I can do it. There’s just so much past between us, weighing us down, unable to move forward.

Once I’ve got both mugs filled, I head out to the living room. He’s got the fire going, but he’s just standing there, staring at my small collection of pictures on the mantle. Setting the mugs on the coffee table, I sink onto the couch. His frame is rigid, unyielding. It frightens me a little.

“Peeta? Something wrong?”

“No. I guess...I guess I’m just...surprised,” he murmurs.

“About what?”

“These aren’t the kind of pictures I’d expect you to have on your mantle. Your parents and Prim, I can understand but…” His thumb traces down the frame of the two of us together. So young and happy and close. And this is it, I realize. When we finally have to answer to the music. I take a deep breath and puff it out.

“Say it, Peeta. Just say what you need to.”

It’s another moment before he finally does.

“You avoided me for close to a week after you got here. Even then, when you spoke to me, it was only because you needed your ski fixed. But you’ve got this up here like I’m important to you somehow. I just don’t understand.” It’s not what I’m expecting him to say. It feels like a punch, although he’s not wrong. I was avoiding him, and I feel awful for it now. So of course the first thing out of my mouth sounds angry.

“You didn’t exactly seek me out either,” I remind him. “Just kept track of me.”

“Can you blame me?” He whirls around to face me and I nearly fall over at the anger and hurt in his eyes. “You left here ten years ago without even saying goodbye. Nothing, Katniss! You were just...gone!”

“I didn’t think you ever wanted to see me again.”

“Someone tells you that you’re the best part of their life and you somehow take that as ‘I never want to see you again?’”

“You lost your leg!”

“Gee, hadn’t noticed.”

“It was my fault!”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it. No, there’s something else.”

“It’s the truth! Even your mother said it was all my fault.”

“My mother?”

With those two words, it’s like all the fight drains out of him. And once more, I wonder what she said to him, did to him, in the days and weeks following our fall. “Wait...when did she say that to you? When did she even talk to you?”

“The one time out of dozens that I actually got through when I tried to call you in the hospital.”

He stares at me for a moment, spins to brace his hands on the mantle, head down and fists clenched until his knuckles turn white. I know before he even says it that he’s searching for the lies in my words.

“What _exactly_ did she say to you?”

The tears slip from my eyes as I repeat the words that are burned into my heart and every last pain sensor in my body. He doesn’t say anything and the words keep spilling out of my mouth.

“I called twice a day, sometimes more! But the nurses would never put me through. You were always asleep, or with the doctors, or something! I was out of my mind with worry and guilt and pain! All I wanted was to hear your voice. Just for one second! But you couldn’t be bothered to call me back! And then she said that to me and it was everything I was afraid of and --”

Now I’m stuttering and blubbering into my palms, wishing for him to hold me or to go away so no one sees me like this. Silently begging him to believe me and knowing that he can’t. I have nothing to prove my claims.

“Katniss,” Peeta murmurs and the couch dips beside me with his weight. His hands push mine aside and he cups my cheeks so that there’s nowhere else I can look except at him. “Katniss it wasn’t your fault, okay? You didn’t nearly kill me. You saved my life that day. Stop shaking your head; you did.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t saved mine first,” I mumble pathetically. I can see it as if it’s happening again and I shudder. The ground rushing up to me and then the sky, Peeta’s body wrapped protectively around mine. Taking the worst of the impact.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I saw it every night for months after. The ground, and then the sky, and then nothing. You flipped us over so you took the worst of it.”

“I don’t...don’t remember that,” Peeta says. His face scrunches in confusion. Then he shakes himself and drops his hands. “It wasn’t your fault, Katniss. It was an accident. I never once blamed you for that part of it. But you still just left.”

The fury rises up within me again, the betrayal I felt when Peeta left me to deal with my parents’ death on my own, even though I knew he had so much to deal with himself. “Me? What was I supposed to do? I just told you I did everything I could to get ahold of you, but you couldn’t even send a postcard when my parents died four days later!”

“You’re joking, right?” he says, his own eyes blazing back to life with anger.

“Why would I joke about something like that? I get that you were in pain and drugged up and your mother was a bitch--”

“You’re right. She was a bitch. You’ve got no idea…” his face contorts for a second and I lean away from him. I’ve never seen this expression on his face and not for the first time since Eirik hinted at what happened do I wonder what exactly that woman told him. What awful tangle of lies exists in his head. And how I am ever going to untangle them. I don’t even know if it’s possible, but I wait for him to keep talking.

“She kept telling me you hadn’t called. For days. Every time I asked about you, always the same answer. This awful look of pity and then her telling me that it would be better for me to just move on. She kept telling me that you learn who your real friends are when you’re at your worst, as if that was supposed to help me deal with any of it. She refused to let me anywhere near a phone, claiming that she was protecting me. I didn’t want to believe the things she said, but she was the only one talking. The only one there all the time. When I overheard Dad telling her that your parents had both -- I finally managed to get my hands on a phone when she wasn’t around one day.

“I must’ve left a dozen messages that never got answered. She caught me and had the phone removed from my hospital room after that, saying that it was a distraction from my recovery. That any answer I got on the other end would just hurt me more. Then you left before I was out of the hospital, without so much as saying goodbye. And I figured that was my answer.”

I feel like I’m caught. Trapped in a sinking ship with water filling the hold, rising up to choke me as an image revisits me. A bright red number and a mindless fury fueled by hurt and grief.

“No,” I shake my head, trying to deny what I unwittingly did. Because I can see in his anguished blue eyes that he’s telling the truth. “No. I didn’t know. Peeta, I swear I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

I can’t form words. I choke on them and spit out something that sounds vaguely like “Deleted” and “Too hurt.” I’m not sure that I make any sense. He must guess at some of it, though, because he pulls me into his arms.

As it washes over me, all the missed chances and horrible mistakes, I sit there in his arms, stiff and afraid that if I let go, I will break in two. He murmurs to me, although I can’t make out the words. When I manage to take a deep breath, I inhale his once more familiar scent and make the most awful choking noises. It almost does break me, the realization of what was done to us and what we did to each other as a result. The lies his mother told us both and how easily we let ourselves believe them.

Nineteen phone messages left during my parents’ funeral and wake. Fifteen deleted without anyone hearing them. And I suddenly wonder if any of those were from Peeta. They must have been, after all. What would I have done if I had listened to them? How can he possibly believe that I didn’t?

I don’t know if I can fix this. It’s beyond what even I was expecting.

Then I feel the first splash of his warm tears in my hair. He’s crying, too. Peeta’s crying, too.

I grip his shirt in both my hands and pull myself closer to him. Bury my face in his chest. His arms tighten around me. We sit there, crying for an indeterminate amount of time. By the time I manage to stop, I’m exhausted. Wrung out and limp in his arms. He’s curled around me, almost like he was when we hit the ground that day, protecting me from the impact of the world.

When I finally lift my head, he looks like me. Tear stained cheeks and red eyes.

I look into his eyes and wipe my nose on the back of my sleeve. I hate crying like this. I’m going to have a headache later, and I will have lost him all over again. Now that I know he really didn’t leave me to grieve my parents alone but tried to reach out to me. Only in my hurt, I unknowingly pushed him further away.

How stupid. But we were both so young. So ill equipped to deal with the fate fortune dealt us.

Peeta glances out the window and I can feel him slipping away again. I grip his shirt tighter, my hands shaking and hurting with the force of it. I might rip the fabric if he tries to leave now.

“Looks like that snow storm is here,” he murmurs. “I should head back before it gets any worse.”

Desperation rises up in my chest. I’m strapped to that stretcher with Peeta being taken away from me all over again.

“Stay,” I whisper. He shakes his head and cups his hand on the back of my head, brings our foreheads together so that our noses brush and his eyes become blurry in my vision.

“I think we both...need some space to think things over,” he says. I want to deny it, but I somehow know that he’s right. There’s still a wedge between us. A choice. Do we choose to believe each other or do we keep letting the lies and the past foul the space between us?

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, and his voice sounds so hollow and broken.

“Yes,” I tell him.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I whisper.

It seems to be enough. We unwind ourselves from one another slowly and he grabs his coat from the kitchen. Puts his boots back on while I try not to beg him to stay again. As he opens the door, I grab his hand to stop him. Stand on my toes and press a kiss to his jaw.

“At least call me or something when you make it back to the lodge?” Peeta nods and then I manage to let go of his hand.

I wash dishes and clean up while I wait, keeping my phone in my pocket so that I can answer it right away. I won’t leave him without an answer this time. My pulse jumps when my phone rings and I answer without looking.

“Peeta?”

“Yeah. Made it back in one piece.”

“Okay,” I say and sink onto my bed. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too,” he says. We manage a few more awkward sentences wishing each other goodnight and then I manage to sleep. In my dreams that night, I don’t fall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep meaning to put this in the notes, so to help clarify the timeline now that we've got major events laid out...
> 
> 1964 - Eirik Tjaland wins gold in Nordic Combined at the Olympics in Innsbruck  
> 1979 - Agnes Tjaland is injured (19 years old) and misses out on the 1980 Lake Placid Olympics  
> 1981 - Agnes Tjaland marries Bram Mellark  
> 1982 - Graham Mellark born  
> 1989 - Ryen Mellark born  
> 1992 - Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen born  
> 1996 - Primrose Everdeen  
> 1997 - Katniss invites Peeta to help with ski lessons (CH 3 Flashback)  
> 2004 - Peeta lands his first 720 (CH 4 Flashback)  
> 2004 - Katniss runs her first biathlon race (CH 5 Flashback)  
> 2006 - May. Katniss reviews - Winter Olympics held in Turin, Italy that February. Graham earns bronze. (CH 6 Flashback)  
> 2006 - December. Peeta gets in a fight, both are blamed for it. Everlark dreams of gold (CH 7 Flashback)  
> 2007 - May. Katniss and Peeta share a first kiss (CH 8 Flashback)  
> 2007 - June. Everlark falls, Peeta’s leg is amputated (CH 9 Flashback)  
> 2007 - June. Katniss’ parents die. Mrs Mellark is a @#&*(^%# on steroids. Katniss and Prim go to live with their mother’s sister (CH 10 - 12 Flashbacks)


	13. A Little Reckless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the US:  
> Green = Beginner  
> Blue = Intermediate  
> Black diamond = Expert  
> Double Black Diamond = WTF you better know what you're doing

_“Haymitch!” Prim shouts gleefully._

_She drops Katniss’ hand and runs straight for him, her footsteps echoing in the courthouse hallways. He bends down just enough to scoop her into his arms and spin with her. He’s wearing a suit and tie, the first time Katniss has ever seen him in anything this fancy. His shoes are shiny and his long black hair is neatly held at the nape of his neck then braided down his back. He looks so dapper that Katniss barely recognizes him._

_Katniss follows at a much more sedate pace, bringing the social worker with her. Katniss notices the social worker taking notes as they walk. Two strangers stand behind Haymitch, a man and a woman in matching light gray suits._

_Katniss takes her time examining the pair. The woman talks on her phone, her words clipped and efficient. Her hair is styled into an almost retro bob. Everything about her speaks of professionalism. When she hangs up, she smiles at Haymitch and Prim, her sharp brown eyes softening to warm and comforting. The man watches Katniss as she approaches, half a smile on his face, his eyes fixed on hers. It’s only when she’s up close that she catches the flecks of what looks like gold eyeliner just on the rims of his eyes. The touch surprises her, but she can’t deny that the effect on his green eyes, combined with his light brown skin is unforgettable._

_At first, Katniss had been angry with Prim when she admitted that she’d called Haymitch, begging him to come get them. Uncle Dave had been furious with the unexpected long distance charges. Katniss had diverted attention from Prim by commenting that maybe he should move into this century and invest in a better phone company._

_The counselors kept saying “give it time.” But Katniss had been spending more and more time avoiding her aunt and uncle. Especially her uncle. More often now, they lost their patience with Prim where they’d once been so accommodating for her. Give it time. She’s begun to think that giving it time is the worst thing they could do. So, no. She’s not upset with Prim. Especially not now, seeing Haymitch in the flesh._

_“We’ve missed you!” Prim gushes as he sets her on her feet. She steps back and Haymitch opens his arms to Katniss. She falls into his embrace and clings to the back of his suit jacket. She orders her eyes to remain dry and they thankfully listen._

_“How are you, sweetheart?”_

_“Better now that you’re here,” she admits._

_“It’ll be okay,” he assures her, planting a kiss on her hair._

_She’s not sure she can believe that it will be okay, but she can believe that it will be better as she steps back to meet the lawyers arguing Haymitch’s case to become her and Prim’s guardian. Unmarried man with no children of his own, the chances are slim. But she’s already decided that if the judge rules against him, she’s packing up her things and Prim and running away. She’s sixteen now and can maybe pass for eighteen. No one will question it if she lies convincingly enough._

_“This is Cinna and Portia,” Haymitch introduces the lawyers._

_“Keep a brave face, Katniss,” Cinna reassures her. “We’ll be doing everything we can to get you home.”_

_She likes him almost immediately. He sets her at ease with his kind words while Portia’s quiet determination does the same._

_The social worker chats with the lawyers and Haymitch while the girls cling to his sides. That small detail does not go unnoticed. Neither does Prim’s quivering lip or the impassive mask that falls back over Katniss’ face as they have to say their goodbyes to Haymitch, for now._

_In the end, she doesn’t have to run away with Prim. Portia and Cinna do their job extraordinarily well. Before their second Christmas in Michigan, Katniss and Prim are packing their bags for New Mexico._

_The first stop Haymitch makes when they reach Taos after the long drive is a dive restaurant where he introduces them to his own weirdly cobbled together family of friends. Katniss eats like she hasn’t in ages, clearing at least three plates. She likes the owner of the place, Sae, and the warm dishes with their subtle spices, sweetened with cactus. Sae places a fresh plate in front of Katniss almost as soon as she finishes one and before she can ask for more. She tells stories filled with wonder, hidden gems of humor and hope wrapped up inside cryptic legends that Katniss enjoys deciphering. Sae grins when Katniss comes up with understanding of their meaning on her own._

_She tries to name her feelings as Prim enchants everyone in the restaurant with her sweetness and questions about the local wildlife. While what Katniss feels isn’t quite happiness, she knows it’s better than the gut twisting dread she’d started to feel every morning she woke in Michigan. Eventually, she settles on calling it relief. But that’s all she allows herself. Anything more could be snatched away in an instant._

_Haymitch’s second stop, before they even make it to his house, is a ski shop. Katniss tries to protest._

_“You’re getting a pair whether you like it or not. Angelfire’s season isn’t as long as Jackson Hole, but it’ll do to get you back up on your feet. Besides, I need a ski buddy to make sure I don’t crack a hip or some shhhhh--- stuff.”_

* * *

 

The snow is thick and wet in the morning, and even though Haymitch gave us the morning off, I am not content to remain in my cabin. I will surely go mad trapped here with memories. I’ve already run it over in my head. Over and over.

Not to mention the reality of what faces me when I return to Colorado. The expectations. I’d managed to push them out of my mind for the past few weeks because I’ve been faced with much bigger demons. Now that Peeta and I appear to at least be on the road to resolving those, I suddenly have room again for the weight of high hopes.

Right now, I need action. So I wind the green headphones around my old iPod and tuck it into my coat pocket. Then I tromp through the new snow to the lodge, up to the desk offering rental equipment. I ask for a set for downhill, and the woman helps fit me before sending me on my way.

I kick my feet nervously as I ride the lift to the top of the mountain. It’s been awhile since I’ve done downhill skiing. At least a year, and even then it was only a handful of runs with Prim. I don’t like having my heels trapped to my skis. I’m used to them being free.

I shuffle off the lift and awkwardly make my way to the top of the green slope. I make a handful of easy runs to get the feel of it again, ignore the four to six year olds whizzing by me with their instructors, before I move to the blue. It’s crowded. Really crowded. I guess people are taking advantage of what will likely be the last big snow of the season. I don’t need crowds right now.

It’s reckless, but I manage an awkward shuffle over to a black diamond line that appears relatively free of traffic today. I study the map for a moment, trying to memorize the curves so I don’t kill myself doing this. Although that might be a better plan because if I fall and don’t die, Haymitch will finish the job for me. How many times has he reminded me that I’m our country’s best shot at our first biathlon medal ever?

“Okay. You can do this, Katniss,” I tell myself and pull out my iPod. Pop in the buds and hit _Shuffle All_.

I close my eyes and bounce with the beat as it picks up, the Beastie Boys screaming in my ears and pumping me up. Before long, I’ve got my arms waving in the air and I know I must look ridiculous, but really, who cares? I need this.

“Okay,” I say again and yank the earbuds out. When I turn my head to put away the iPod, my eyes catch someone standing six feet away. On a snowboard. I lift my gaze, my cheeks heating with every inch of certainty as I take in the now familiar red coat and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who had this idea today,” Peeta says and I scowl at the smirk on his face, embarrassed at having been caught.

“You don’t own this side of the mountain, you know.”

“Oh I know,” he says. He keeps going before I can retort. “Wouldn’t your coach lose his shit if he knew you were doing something as _dangerous_ as downhill on your day off?”

“Probably,” I mutter and shift my skis. But Peeta’s still smiling and getting under my skin, tickling at the edges of pressure literally everyone has placed me under. Just one more thing piled on top of me along with memory and lost chances. Somehow though, Peeta’s found the the escape vent and I’m not sure I want to ratchet it back in place. I lift my chin in defiance.

“I won’t tell if you don’t. Maybe I just want to have fun today.” Peeta chuckles and I can’t blame him. The word “fun” sounds foreign on my tongue. It even feels foreign and that just makes me mad. Especially since so many of my memories of _fun_ are tied to him. I can have fun. I’m not a heartless machine.

“Okay Katniss I just want to have fun but I feel nothing when I ski Everdeen, let’s go,” he challenges as he pulls his goggles down to cover his eyes.

“What? Like now?” I ask.

“You’re not ready? So what was with all the…?” he waves his arms around and I huff.

“I didn’t look like that, and you know exactly what that was all about.”

His smile widens as he pulls his mask up, holding it out from his lips so he can say one last thing. “First one down buys hot chocolate.”

“Did you just—?” His mask is up, he hops to turn his board, and he’s gone before I can finish the question. “Son of a—!”

I take off after him, grumbling that he cheated. But as I ski, the wind rejuvenates me. The scraping sound of skis on snow and the glint of the sunshine, even through my goggles is dazzling. It’s beautiful and freeing and I quickly find myself laughing as my skis cut through the powder.

It’s when I hear Peeta’s loud whoop ahead of me that I finally look for him, just in time to see him fly over a snowbank. For a second, my heart stops. He reaches down to grab his board, seemingly suspended mid air for what feels like eternity.

He lands out of my view and it’s only when he slices back in front of me that I’m able to breathe again. I don’t want to have to call ski patrol for him. Because I’m not sure I can handle seeing him get hurt again. Not to mention Haymitch would find out about this reckless little race for sure and kill us both. Twice.

And wait. Did Peeta say _first_ down the mountain buys hot chocolate?

I tuck myself down a little tighter, because I refuse to let him win easily, but Peeta’s taunting me, cutting back and forth in wide arcs. I know it’s because I’m being cautious. I could go faster if I wanted to, but it still feels wonderful. Just enjoying the mountain and the time spent with him.

His arms lift as he makes a sharp cut, spraying up snow onto the trees. He’s facing me now and I laugh, then try to warn him to watch where he’s going. Before the words are out, he cuts back around to face down the mountain.

Even with all his shenanigans, he beats me to the flat. I turn my skis to the side and skid to a halt, throwing snow up over his ankles as I stutter to a stop.

“You cheated! I demand best of three!” I shout and he grins.

“Okay, I can deal with that,” he says. “Should we try blue this time? Give you a fighting chance?”

I shove his arm playfully as he steps off his board and helps me off my skis. We make our way back to the lift. As we ride it up together, he points out changes they’ve made in the past ten years. Ideas they have for future alterations and improvements.

We set up at the top and Peeta’s still fixing the bindings on his board when I shout, “Ready, set, GO!”

“Hey!” he shouts after me, but I’m already gone. This time, I make it down first and Peeta spins his board, returning the spray of snow over my ankles as he stops.

“Last chance, Mellark,” I taunt as we approach the top for our third run and he smiles at me.

“I really hope it’s not,” he says and I blush. I know it without a doubt because I am warm and tingling all over. My lips prickle with the combined sensation with the cold air on them. I find myself hoping that he’s flirting. That this means that he believes me about why I left without a word. That I would have stayed if I’d only heard those messages from him. That we’re not as completely broken as I had once feared.

“So do I,” I whisper. His smile wavers for a second and then we’re bounced in warning. We climb off and set up. This time neither one of us cheats.

We laugh and call out encouragement to one another instead, our banter catching a small group of people off guard as we fly past them. In the end, we can’t tell who wins, but we still make our way inside to the cafe. Hot chocolate in hand, we find a couch close to one of the smaller fire places scattered throughout the lobby and settle on the floor in front of it, sitting on our coats for cushioning as we drink and our conversation wanders, the couch shielding us from view.

“Why business?” I ask about his chosen degree.

“Well it was actually hotel and restaurant management with a business minor. I’m third in line. Had to make a claim to my inheritance somehow,” he says and I hum. “Dueling was out because Ryen is a merciless cheat. I’d never beat him.”

I snort and cover my mouth to keep the hot chocolate from spurting out. Peeta hands me a napkin and I swallow without making a mess. He asks me a little about my travels for the IBU events and then all about the apartment I share with Prim, silly details that I wouldn’t think are important, but we’ve got so much lost time to make up for that I don’t mind. It’s actually wonderful being able to talk with Peeta like this again.

“What did you mean when you said you had a lot going on here that you couldn’t just drop?” I eventually ask when we’ve covered just about everything that isn’t painful for me.

“You mean besides helping Gramps run the resort and keeping my own small business afloat and--”

“Yes, besides all of that,” I say.

“I um, actually I help run a few camps every winter for kids who...kids like me. Who have some form of limb impairment.” I know I look surprised but I can’t help it. It’s the first he’s mentioned it, and with the careful way he says it, it seems like something that would be important to him.

“Through Teton Adaptive Sports?” I ask. “They offer snowboarding now?”

His brow furrows at me. “They have for a few years. Wait, how do you know about them?”

I could lie, because the truth will bring us back to painful subjects, but somehow I sense that to fix things with Peeta, I will need to be painfully and completely honest. I pluck at my pants but don’t look away as I answer him.

“Because my best friend had Olympic sized dreams and then he had his leg amputated when we were fifteen years old, and all I wanted to do after was make sure he could still be happy.”

I hold my breath as Peeta thinks over my words.

“You know, I didn’t give a damn about snowboarding or the Olympics when I woke up in that hospital. Do you know what the first word out of my mouth was? Before they even told me where I was?”

I shake my head, afraid that I already know the answer.

“Your name, Katniss.” I stare into my empty cup of chocolate. Mourning the quick death of our enjoyable morning. But I guess this is how it’s going to be for us for awhile. Perhaps always.

“But you were right,” he says and my eyes jump back up to him. He leans forward and pulls a sheet of paper from his back pocket before unfolding it and staring at it.

“I called Chaff last night, one of the skiers I work with through TAS. To talk about what it’d take to plan camps next winter around competition dates. When I told him I still wasn’t sure I was gonna do it, he told me I was being ridiculous. That the kids would be thrilled if they could watch one of their teachers in the Paralympics, or hell any kind of competition, and we’d find a way to make the dates work. So...” He draws out the last word and then hands the paper to me. “I wanted to tell you before anyone else, since I might never have done this if it weren’t for you.”

I hold it in my hands and my breath catches. I’m only able to register the red-blue-green agitos of the Paralympics emblem along with the logo for World Para Snowboarding at the top, his name and the SB-LL1 classification beneath before the tears cloud my vision. I drop the empty cup and fling myself at him. Peeta gathers me into his arms and pulls me onto his lap. We hold onto one another and don’t let go.

“Aren’t you gonna say something?” he asks, his voice choked. I let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Passport?”

“Sent off the application this morning.”

“Guess we better tell Haymitch to book us a flight to New Zealand,” I say.

“While that’s all well and good, someone wanna explain these downhill skis to me?” Haymitch growls. I let go of Peeta and we share a guilty look before I glance innocently up at Haymitch.

“Oops?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your informational purposes:  
> https://www.paralympic.org/snowboard  
> http://tetonadaptivesports.com/  
> http://www.biathlonworld.com/  
> IBU = International Biathlon Union  
> “Agitos” means to move and is the name given to the swooped symbols in the Paralympic emblem  
> Anyone watch the snowboarding last night???? :-)


	14. A Growing Flame

_“You need anything else?” Haymitch asks as she swings her arms in loose arcs to keep warm._

_“Nope,” she says and skis away from him, coming to a stop behind the starting gate to await her turn. The sounds of the small crowd are faint, echoing hollow in the distance. She blocks them out. Prim is back home in New Mexico, staying with Sae so she doesn’t miss any school. There is no one here to cheer for her other then Haymitch._

_It took almost a year after moving to New Mexico and training before Haymitch could convince her to race. In the end, she agreed only because it had the potential to bring in money, to help send Prim to college, if Katniss were good enough. And it turns out that it’s one of the few things Katniss thinks she’s good at._

_Vancouver is next year. She won’t be going, still too young, in terms of biathlon, and unproven with her long absence from the sport. She needs a few years in juniors to prove herself, they said. She starts proving them wrong today._

_She shuffles into the gate and takes her stance, staring at the ground and focusing for the sounds that release her._

Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeep

_She shoves off and nothing exists but her own motion, the clock, and the target. The rest of the world can go to hell._

* * *

 

Haymitch puts us through the wringer, all while giving us lectures about avoiding stupid injuries. When he finally calls it quits for the day, I head back to my cabin to shower. Once I’m dressed, I boot up my laptop. I’ve got plenty of work that I could get done, but I don’t feel like sitting alone. I bite my thumb nail for a moment or two, debating the wisdom of the idea taking root in my mind. I’m not sure if we’re still giving each other space.

“Screw it,” I finally say. I dress for the trek to the lodge, grab my laptop on the way out the door. After a quick stop at Rooba’s and the cafe, I head back through to The Locker. As usual, he’s got his music turned up and I pause in the doorway to watch for a moment. He’s focused on something on his laptop but his head bobs in time with the music. Every now and then, his thumbs will drum on the work table or he’ll mouth a phrase or two from the lyrics.

He looks so relaxed that I hate to disturb him, but then why did I come down here? I slip inside and step into his field of view.

“Hey!” he says, jolted out of his reverie, a wide smile spreading across his face. He turns off the music and I hold up the food.

“I brought dinner. If you don’t mind some company?”

“Sure.” He shifts a few stools around.

“What’re you working on?” I ask as I take my seat.

“New board. For me,” he says and I lean over to see if I can catch a glimpse of his design. All I see is that it’s a CAD program, something with curved lines and floating numbers.

“What are you putting on it?”

“Haven’t gotten that far yet. Right now I’m trying to get the tip and tail right. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a racing board for myself.”

He spins the laptop so I can see and dives into talking about angles and curves and rigidity. I rest my chin on my cupped palm and watch him while he talks. He gets this intense look on his face when he’s trying to work out the details. The same one he’d have when he was drawing, or when he was headed into a new trick. I get a little fixated on his lashes, which were always so long and blond. They still are. It’s amazing they haven’t gotten hopelessly tangled when he blinks.

I get caught staring.

“Sorry,” Peeta mutters, his cheeks turning pink. “I went full board nerd on you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t mind,” I tell him.

“You don’t?” I shake my head. “Okay.”

He reaches for the bag I brought and we set up dinner. We talk while we eat. Mainly we touch on superficial things, easy to talk about things. After we eat, he goes back to working on his board, the music quieter this time, while I plow my way through some of my own work. It’s actually pleasant, both of us in our own heads but near enough to the other to say that we’re together.

When I stop and stretch at one point, Peeta sits across the workbench from me again and once more grabs the bag I used to carry dinner.

“What’s for dessert?”

“Are we failing our diet again?”

“Haymitch is already pissed, might as well go big.”

I laugh and show him the cookies I got at the cafe. We nibble on them in quiet, but I can tell there’s something weighing on him.

“Katniss, if you don’t mind me asking...what happened to you after you left here?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my muscles clench, my body rigid as I stare at him.

“I just mean that you left here ten years ago and I know a little bit about your life now in Colorado, but I know nothing about the years in between. I’d like to.” I can’t answer him at first and he shrinks back in on himself the longer I stay silent. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, Peeta. It’s not that,” I say and set what remains of my cookie down because I’m close to crushing the thing in my fist. “It’s just not easy to talk about.”

Peeta reaches across the table and takes my hands in his. The touch is gentle, soothing. I stare at our joined hands. He’s got a scar on his left thumb that wasn’t there before and I wonder at its origin. Then something strange happens.

I talk.

At first, I speak in choppy phrases, attempting to dredge up the past without revealing how much of it I buried, refused to react to, because the pain of it would have surely broken me at the time. My stomach ties into the familiar knot of dread and my hands shake in his.

But the longer I talk, the easier the words become. I tell him about the Hendersons and the poorly veiled disdain they had for me. Uncle Dave and the way my skin crawled around him, but I could never explain why until a few years after I’d left and it hit me just how close I’d been to an entirely new kind of pain. How lucky I was that leering gazes never turned to groping touches.

The way they sold my skis without telling me and took away one of my last connections to my father. To Peeta and this place. To the very fibers of who I am.

I tell him about Prim slowly wilting and eventually calling Haymitch. Some of it I’ve never talked about out loud before. Not even with Prim or Haymitch.

The only time he reacts is when I mention the lawyers, Portia and Cinna, who got us out of there. His body jolts a little but he remains silent. I remember what Eirik said about already knowing a pair of lawyers who were adept at protecting children and families and I realize that despite our separation, this is something that connected us in a strange way. The presence of Cinna and Portia and their effect on our lives.

I tell him about the relief I felt at my first breath of the thin, dry air of New Mexico’s mountains. When I finish, I risk a look up at him. His touch on my hands is still gentle, but his jaw is clenched and his eyes could burn holes through the workbench.

Somehow, I know his fury isn’t directed at me. No, he’s livid on my behalf. And the realization, the proof that Peeta would still leap to my defense, take a punch to the eye for me, and then adamantly defend my innocence in it all, makes my breath catch in my throat.

“Peeta,” I say softly and he shakes his head.

“You should never have had to go through that. Especially not after what you’d already been through.”

“It’s in the past,” I say with a lift of my shoulders, and for the first time, I feel the weight of it all lift a little. Peeta raises our joined hands to his lips. The kiss is whisper soft, turning knots of anxiety into flutterings of hope. Our eyes meet and I lean towards him, drawn towards the warmth in his blue eyes.

“Are there any more cookies? I think we need them,” he asks and I nod.

We stay away from dangerous topics after that, and when the cookies are gone, Peeta offers to walk me back to my cabin. On my porch he shuffles his feet and gazes off in the distance for a moment.

“Katniss, thank you. For telling me. I know it can’t be...easy to talk about. So thank you for trusting me.”

I smile and when he finally looks at me, we move towards each other. We fall into an embrace and I rest my cheek on his chest. Eventually, my nose starts to turn numb and Peeta releases me, tells me good night, and leaves me wishing that I had asked him inside.

Maybe tomorrow.

We fall into a pattern. Training until late afternoon. Sometimes Eirik will check in on us and waves off Peeta’s concerns that he’s been neglecting his duties with the lodge. Dinner together in The Locker while we both work. We talk. It’s excruciating some nights, rebuilding our memories of one another, filling in the gaps in time. His mother’s vitriol and how it made some days seem impossible to get through, made healing seem pointless. His time with therapists for both his body and his mind. Cinna and Portia’s fight to remove Agnes from Peeta’s life. His parents’ divorce at the same time.

We only touch on one or two heavy things a day, and somehow, Peeta always seems to know when to bring the levity back into the room. Slowly, we spend more time laughing than we do staring at the table reciting past hurts in a monotone while the other listens, comforts.

Just as training with him revives my familiarity with his body, our evenings spent together revive my familiarity with who he is, deep down inside.

Every night, Peeta walks me back to my cabin. Every night, I debate the wisdom of asking him to stay with me. Just a little longer. I delay on the porch to steal a few more sentences with him before he goes. Reminders for our training the next day. Mundane comments on the warming weather. Nothing about how I will be leaving soon.

Nothing about how badly I want him to kiss me.

Peeta’s not getting the hints again. I start to wonder if I’ll have to do what I did when we were fifteen and just kiss him myself. Or maybe he’s realized that I’m not the same fifteen year old girl he fell in love with. Maybe we’re meant to be just friends and partners in training now.

Not even Haymitch’s foul grumbling at us can ruin my mood a few days after I tell Peeta about my time in Michigan. I’m so uncharacteristically cheerful, I’m almost afraid every time I make a turn. Things are going so well that there has to be some disaster lurking around the corner. But as I dig in and finish the last of my sprints, I’m smiling. I credit our time on the slopes a few days ago and all of our shared evenings, or the fact that I feel like I’ve finally got my best friend back.

“Good. Finally some real progress,” Haymitch says as I coast to a stop next to him and Peeta, hands on my hips and breathing hard. “Your turn, Cupcake.”

We move to the banked slalom and Haymitch sends Peeta through one run after another, critiquing his turns until they’re tight enough to be deemed “adequate.” I shiver while I watch and sip my water. At one point I twist on the bench and bend over to get my snow pants out of the big bag we’ve been lugging around. My legs are starting to freeze.

Behind me, I hear Peeta shout and then a distinct _scrape_. I spin back around, heart in my throat, in time to see him pushing himself upright again, brushing snow off his pants.

“Know why you fell, Cupcake?” Haymitch asks.

“Yeah,” Peeta says, his face turning pink. “I tried to cut it too short. Lost the right side.”

“WRONG!” Haymitch yells, making us both jump. “You fell because you were staring at Sweetheart’s ass instead of paying attention to what you were doing. Get back to the top and try it again. Sort out your hormones on your own time!”

Now Peeta’s face really is red, but as I slip on my snow pants and duck my gaze, I don’t even try to supress the fluttering in my middle. Nor can I stop the wish that we could just have a few minutes alone together. Even our time in The Locker or while Peeta walks me home isn’t really private. There’s always someone popping in or walking by.

After lunch, Prim calls me and I get caught up talking to her about her classes and my training. She asks dozens of questions and seems completely interested in everything I say. As often as I’ve listened to her talking about what’s happening in her life, as I hang up, it occurs to me that I’ve never really reciprocated. I have been my sister’s confidante, but until today, she has not really been mine. Talking to her felt good and it’s only the realization that I’m late meeting Haymitch and Peeta at the pool for our afternoon workout that breaks me out of thoughts of how in a way, I’ve been neglecting my relationship with my sister.

When I make it to the pool, Peeta’s already in the water. Haymitch sits in a lawn chair, feet propped up on a stack of life rings, reading a newspaper.

“Nice of you to join us, Sweetheart,” Haymitch drawls without lowering his newspaper.

“Did you save that from the stone age?” I ask and he grunts.

“Five trips across the pool, rest for thirty seconds, repeat until I decide you’ve had enough.”

“I was talking to Prim,” I tell him. The corner of the paper drops and he glares at me, because we both know that’s the only acceptable excuse I can give him for being late.

“Fine. Rest for one minute.”

I smile, happy with the leniency, and turn to take a lane. But that is when Peeta must finish one of his sets. He braces his hands on the side of the pool at the far end and hauls himself out of the water. Twists his hips to sit and take his one minute rest. I decide right then that spontaneous combustion is a real thing after all. It’s the only explanation for the way I feel and how fast I feel it.

I’ve always known he was strong, even when we were kids. But I can’t look away from the display of it. Rippling and bulging and dripping wet and back muscles and shoulders and _arms_ and--

“Here,” Haymitch says, yanking my gaze away from Peeta, who’s just spotted me and waves. I wave back and stare down at the workout towel Haymitch has smacked into my arm.

“What’s that for?” I scowl. It wouldn’t even dry one leg after swimming.

“You’ve got drool on your chin,” he says with a smirk.

“You disgust me,” I say and march towards the pool with Haymitch’s guffaws following me and my entire body on fire. Diving into the water does nothing to quench it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, I've got a pint of mint chocolate chip, orange sherbet, rum and raisin, creme brulee, rocky road, and double fudge brownie for me...anyone else? Anyone?


	15. A Breaking Point

I take a long, cold shower after our pool workout and it does nothing to solve my body being on fire problem. I try a brisk walk and that does nothing either. Eventually, I capitulate and return to the lodge.

The entire place is in an uproar. I can feel it the moment I walk in.

Staff often rotated in and out of the resort based on the season and what was offered to guests at different times of the year, but there was also always a core group of staff who remained year round. Sometimes it almost felt like a family, locked away from the rest of the world atop this mountain. Which is annoying when you just want some privacy to make out with your boyfriend, but nice when you have something worth celebrating.

Not that Peeta’s my boyfriend. But he was, at one time in our lives. Not the point.

He’s told Gramps about registering with para snowboarding. I can tell because Rooba is directing the hanging of a massive wipe board just outside the cafe. I am unable to move past it, watching them work to resurrect another piece of the past that should never have died. Once it’s hung to her satisfaction, Rooba turns to order someone to scrub it, there are still streaks of ten year old marker on it and I wonder what sort of stains will be left behind when they wipe them clean.

She spots me and grins. Waves at me like I am an old friend. I wave back and duck into the employee areas. The hallways leading into the kitchens are clogged with traffic, shouting in multiple languages. I have to sidestep people rushing up and down the hallway with The Wall.

When I reach The Locker, I’m almost relieved to find it quiet and empty. Until I realize that means Peeta isn’t here and now I have to brave the insanity to try and find him. I take the chance to catch my breath and prepare myself and am about to leave when I hear a scraping noise from the shelving area.

“Peeta?” I hear it again and then silence. “Are you hiding back there?”

“Maybe,” I hear him answer and chuckle.

It’s so strange to have him avoiding the limelight. He always dealt with it so well when we were kids, but I guess it’s been awhile for him. He’s spent the past ten years hiding back here, building boards and skis for others to ride to medals and trophies, and while his creations might be works of art, no one interviews or showers praise on the person who makes the skis.

I find him between two shelves, leaning against a bin on one of them, his laptop bent back into a tablet and propped against his upright left knee, his right leg stretched out in front of him. The aisles are narrow enough that his foot almost touches the adjacent shelf.

“Can I hide out with you?” I ask and he motions towards the space in front of him. I lower myself to the floor. “What happened?”

“Gramps is throwing a dinner party,” he says.

“How awful of him,” I say and Peeta shakes his head.

“I should be thrilled that they’re all behind me, I know. But I guess I just...don’t want to let them down.” I fold my legs up and hug them, nod in understanding.

“I think they’re just happy for you right now. Gramps knows how happy it makes you. That’s all he really cares about.”

“I guess.” His fingers brush over his screen and his eyes fixate on a point. He concentrates for a moment and then his features relax.

“What’s that?” I ask. He flips it around and shows me. I suck in my breath at the painting he’s creating, the mountains bathed in the orange glow of a sunset. “Oh Peeta,” I breathe.

“You like it?”

“It’s amazing. Is that for your board?”

“I think so,” he says and goes back to working on it. “Do they have the schedule board back up yet? They were dragging it out of storage when I decided to disappear.”

“They do,” I tell him, wondering why they took it down in the first place. Graham and Ryen never stopped competing.

“Mom,” he says in answer to the question I don't ask. “She had them take it down after the accident, claiming that it was just another reminder of what I was missing out on. Things that I couldn’t do anymore.”

I swear under my breath and nudge his foot gently with mine. “I better get my hummingbird flock again.” His head jerks back up to look at me and I squirm as I realize how that sounds. “I mean, if you’re putting me on it. You don’t have to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He smiles and I relax. “Besides, pretty sure Gramps will insist on it. He always liked to think of you as a surrogate granddaughter. I think he wanted granddaughters for real and got stuck with nothing but boys.”

“Okay no, stop right there. Because that would make us cousins in a weird way.”

“And that bothers you?”

“I refuse to tell anyone that the first boy I kissed was my surrogate cousin,” I say and shudder, my face twisting in revulsion. Peeta laughs and sets his tablet aside.

“Yeah, that does give a sick twist to pretty much every single one of my teenage fantasies,” Peeta says. Heat trickles through my body. I relive dancing with him just a week or two ago, the feel of his bare palms on my skin, the undeniable heat of his body, his teeth nipping at my neck, and the feel of him against my thigh. The words are out before I can think better of it.

“Just your teenage fantasies?”

Something flares in Peeta’s eyes and he licks his lips. I’m about to crawl across the aisle and kiss him when there’s loud conversation at the door. I don’t even have time to hope that they’re just passing by when --

“Yo! Peeta! You in here?” Thom calls out.

“Yeah! I’ll be right up!” Peeta calls back. He sets his laptop on a higher shelf then slowly stands. Extends his hand down to help me up. I shake my head, refusing his help. I’m going to need a minute.

I sit there and stew over my wasted cold shower and yet another interruption while Peeta talks with Thom. Eventually he leaves and Peeta comes back to where I’m still sitting.

“Dinner is served,” he tells me and holds both hands out for me. I place mine in his and stand.  Turn and walk down the aisle before I kiss him out of desperation.

The food is beyond reproach. Whoever the chef is that Eirik hired after Bram Mellark left is a worthy replacement. Even Haymitch is in a good mood, although he spends most of the night glued to his phone. The one time I catch him not talking into it, he tells me that he’s hammering out details with the US Para Snowboard Team coach.

I’m distracted after that. Of course, I knew that Haymitch would be going back to Colorado with me. He drove here, but my tickets are for three days from now. Not to mention, Peeta needs a coach familiar with the rules for para snowboarding and other considerations he’ll need to deal with that Haymitch might not even think of. I leave Haymitch alone after that to take care of what needs to be done for Peeta.

Peeta’s swamped with attention almost the entire night. I try to fade into the walls and let him enjoy it, but after about an hour of my awkward wanderings and small talk, he snags my hand in his and won’t let go.

I search his face for some sign of nerves or fear but can’t find any. The only indication that he is anything but relaxed and comfortable with all the attention is his grip on my hand. I give him what I hope is a reassuring squeeze and he returns it.

Staff members wander in and out as their shifts change over, extending the party well past dinner time. The day’s gone and even though he’s been beside me most of the time, I’ve barely had any time with Peeta. We missed out on our quiet evening in The Locker and I’ve only got so many of those left. So when Peeta asks me if I want him to walk me home after the party finally winds down, I answer immediately.

“Yes.”

“Okay, just let me go get my coat.” Peeta releases my hand and I flex it, trying to hold on to some of the warmth. While he’s gone, I bundle myself back up for the walk.

“Seven in the morning, don’t be late. Last full training day here,” Haymitch tells me as he heads up to his own room, leaving me alone and staring up at the wipe board. They’ve washed it clean and already drawn out the squares for the calendar.

“Ready?” Peeta joins me and we turn towards the door. Without a word spoken about it, our hands find one another and link together. It feels so good, holding his hand again like this. When we reach my cabin, I don’t want to let go just yet.

“Did you want to come in?” I ask. “Just for a minute. I still have milk that I need to drink through before it spoils.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m up for more diet failing.”

I snort and unlock the door. It’s only a few minutes before we’re settled on the couch with our mugs of tea. I’m out of chocolate for cocoa, but I still have some wafer cookies that go well with the tea.

“Is there anything you’d change about them?” Peeta asks as he nods towards my hummingbird skis.

“Another pair exactly like them?” I say and Peeta grins. "I need a backup pair."

“I can get started on them tonight, after I finish these cookies,” he says. I shift in my seat and hide my scowl behind my tea. But talking about my skis leads into other topics and the longer he stays, the more I relax.

I tell him about Sae and her stories, about the stunning sunsets in New Mexico and how much Peeta would love them. I’ve never been good with words, though and quickly get frustrated.

“I can’t describe it, I’ll just have to show you one day,” I say, and Peeta smiles. The expression does more to warm me than the tea ever could.

“I’d like that,” Peeta whispers. I set aside my empty mug and lean my head on the back of the couch, unable to look away from his eyes. It feels like the sort of silence that you don’t let stretch into nothing so I search for something else to talk about.

“Are you feeling a little better now that Gramps has his initial euphoria out of the way?”

“Not really. I feel a little like the prodigal son,” Peeta admits and my shoulders shake with soft laughter.

“Have you told your brothers yet?”

“Ah, no,” Peeta says with a grimace. “I am not yet ready for the tasteless jokes at my expense.”

“They only do it because they love you. Even if they are assholes about it.”

“I wish they loved me less,” Peeta says and I laugh for real this time. He sets his mug on the coffee table and shifts so that he’s facing me head on. “But I won’t lie, it has been amazing. Getting back into it, and I’m starting to look forward to it more than being afraid of it.”

“Do I get to say ‘I told you so?’” His smile widens and he takes my hand in one of his, fingers tracing between mine.

“Thank you, Katniss.”

“For what?” I breathe.

“For still believing in me, even after everything. I thought I was okay. It should have been enough, this place and The Locker, making skis and boards, working with the kids at TAS. I love all of it, but somehow I was still missing a piece. I don’t want my life to be a story of could have been or never was,” Peeta explains.

My breath hitches as he reaches out and tucks back some of my hair. Does he have any idea what he’s doing to me with his touches or his words? My heart pounds in my chest and I hold myself rigid in place. The fire crackles in the hearth and dances in his eyes.

“Then don’t let it be,” I whisper.

His lashes flutter and his eyes caress over my my face, down to my lips. I silently urge him to just do it. _Kiss me_. He leans towards me and I am drawn upwards, lifting my head off the couch to meet his lips. He lets go of my hand to cradle my head in his palm. Our mouths move together in a tentative taste. A soft moan rumbles inside me, kicking at the crumbling remains of whatever walls I have left against feeling.

Peeta lifts his head, our lips stick together for a brief moment and then part. My eyes open, vision fuzzy with unfulfilled need, a protest on my lips until I see that he hasn’t gone far. I can still feel his exhales on my lips. My hands fly up and grip his shirt. I’m done wasting time dwelling on could have beens.

“Get. Back here,” I hiss and yank his head down to mine.

The second our lips touch, there’s an explosion of movement, the rest of the walls demolished in an instant. His tongue in my mouth, hand in my hair, caressing my shoulders, back to my hair. I’m starving and he’s the antidote. I don’t care about grace or finesse as we kiss, just about fulfilling this burning need. I shift to climb into his lap and Peeta helps. I can’t even wait before I’m settled straddling him before I start grinding on him. My hands tear at his flannel shirt, trying to get it open, twisting the fabric in my fists as I try to pull it off his shoulders, frustrated when I find a t-shirt beneath it.

I grip his hair instead and writhe over him, seeking the end to this pulsing in my core. Peeta’s hands roam wildly, under my shirt up to my shoulders, around to my breasts, knocked off of them by my frantic humping, gripping my ass and pulling me against him so I can feel his erection through our jeans.

Every time I get close, I only want more. My hands fumble with his belt and Peeta moans in my mouth. I take that as encouragement, but as I tear at the fastenings of his jeans, his hands grip either side of my head and pull me off of him.

“Katniss, fuck. Shouldn’t we slow down?”

“Why?” I gasp. We’re both panting, his shirt is completely askew, his hair is a mess and I know mine isn’t much better. I can feel pieces torn from my braid tickling my shoulders.

“Because I still owe you a first date,” he says with wide, cloudy eyes.

“Later,” I tell him and attack his neck with my mouth. He makes a strangled noise and his hands clench in my hair. His hips rise up to meet mine.

“I’m already ten years late,” he groans but doesn’t pull me off of him again. He brings me closer, hands tugging my shirt down off my shoulders and lips kissing the skin he exposes. I manage to lift myself enough to stare down at him, to take in the sight of his swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“Which means you also owe me for ten years of missing out on this,” I tell him before I smash our mouths together to stop any other protests. He gives up on talking after that.

There’s only him and me and the sounds of tortured delight we make as we drive each other mad. I can’t take it for long, my entire body throbbing and inflamed with ten years worth of want, sharpened and honed by the past few weeks together. By everything that is him.

I manage to disentangle myself from his grasp and pull him off the couch, towards my bedroom. We tear at our own shirts and fling them aside eyes never straying from each other but devouring the sights. I rip off my bra and Peeta groans, pulling me back up against him to kiss me, caressing over my bare skin. I yank off my hair tie and Peeta’s hands unwind my braid, fingers twisting in my hair and tugging. He doesn’t stop kissing me and I arch into him, seeking more. Another. And another. A swipe of tongue, a nip of teeth. I want all of it and I want him now.

His mouth trails hot, wet kisses down my chin. Down my neck as he bends me back and I cling to his shoulders to keep from falling.

“You had better have a fucking condom,” I gasp as his mouth hovers over one breast.

“Interesting word choice,” he murmurs and I groan.

“Witty later, Peeta. Condom now. Tell me you have one,” I squeal the last few words as he sucks on my nipple and my body contorts, standing on my toes and pushing myself closer into his embrace. I keep thinking there’s no way he could make me want this more and then he proves me wrong.

“In my back pocket,” he says and sweeps the flat of his tongue over me. I grope his ass in the process but find his wallet. As soon as I have it in hand, he scoops me into his arms and carries me the rest of the way to the bed.

I tear back the sheets as he sets me down and leans over me, fusing our mouths together in a searing kiss. When he pulls back, I shove my jeans over my hips and shimmy to get them off, throwing them towards the foot of the bed. Peeta’s working his own jeans off, sitting down to finish while I search his wallet and find not one, but two black foil wrapped condoms.

I pull them out and tap them against my lips and grin as Peeta stands in just his briefs. “A little optimistic, aren’t you?”

“What? No. I didn’t think -- I mean I wasn’t assuming anything. I had hoped -- no that’s not right either -- that is -- what if I break one?”

I laugh and reach for him, inviting him to lie next to me beneath the covers. “I’m teasing, Peeta. Or hadn’t you noticed me practically ripping your clothes off for the past twenty minutes?”

The condoms are momentarily forgotten as I kiss him. I can feel him relaxing, returning the kiss as fervently as before. Rolling us over, I lay out on top of him and taste my way down his body. Below the blankets. I tug on his shorts and he lifts his hips. I sink my teeth into his left hip and he groans as I push the fabric down. He works his left leg free and we leave the shorts on the right thigh.

Peeta’s hands grip my arms and haul me back up his body. I squeal and have to brace my hands on his chest to keep our heads from knocking together. We stare at one another for just a second and then we’re in motion again. Me shoving at my panties and wriggling out of them, trying not to knee him in the crotch or leg. Peeta tearing into one of the condoms and rolling it onto himself.

“Will it be better like this?” I whisper as I grip him and he bucks up into my touch.

“With the leg still on, yes,” he says and I need nothing more, sinking slowly onto him and shuddering with every inch of him that fills me. I have to pause and swivel my hips a few times, gradually work him deeper, he’s so thick and hard. Each time I do, his fingers flex on my hips and his teeth dig further into his bottom lip. What neither one of us does is look away from each other. We cling to this connection as long as possible.

Once I’m seated, I refuse to delay. Pushing myself upright, I roll my hips over him and drink it all in. The feel of him inside me, the flow of pleasure growing with each movement of my hips. Peeta grips the blankets and holds them around my hips, keeping my legs covered and warm. He murmurs sweet words as his eyes flit between mine and the movement of our hips.

It’s everything I’ve been needing and not enough. I see the need, the desire reflected back at me in his eyes and fall forward onto his chest. Peeta catches me and holds me close. Our lips slip and then rediscover each other. We share heated breaths and heavy moans. His hands find every stretch of my skin that craves his touch. Soft and sweet with an undeniable heat that finally breaks free as I thrust frantically.

The bed creaks, echoing the rhythm of our movements back to us. His hand tangles in my hair as his moans add another layer. I chant his name in between kisses but I lose it somewhere along the way, squealing out short notes as my body takes over and I move on instinct and need, grinding into him hard enough to make the bed bounce and his fingers dig into my ass. But I can’t stop, not even when it crests and every emotion possible flows through me. My hips keep moving, drawing it out past pleasure to unbearable. I hear a singing wail and a deep shout but I’m too far gone to think or name anything.

When it finally ends, I collapse on top of Peeta and gasp for air. My body wracked with shudders I can’t stop or conceal. My head and chest throb with my pulse. When I can open my eyes, I see his vibrating beneath the skin on his neck. His chest heaves beneath me and his hands tickle feather soft circles over my bare back. A sheen of sweat covers us both.

Slowly, I pry my nails from his shoulders, which I don’t remember grabbing. I lift myself, although it takes great effort. Peeta’s eyes are closed, but his cheeks are adorably rosy and he’s smiling. I press my lips to his cheek.

“Katniss,” he says, and I hear all the longing and satisfaction in the world in his voice. I cup his cheek in my palm and kiss his lips again. Slow this time. So I can taste and feel every part of him tasting every part of me.

Eventually, when we’re both breathing like normal human beings again. I lift my head and stare into his eyes. Now I can see all the longing and satisfaction too. I bite my lip against the ridiculous smile threatening to take over, but it’s pointless. I capitulate and nuzzle his neck. He holds onto me as we lay there.

“Stay?” I ask him, my voice hoarse. “Stay with me tonight?”

“Always,” he whispers.


	16. A First Chance

_ “You ready?” _

_ “Think so,” he says and ratchets down the straps over his right boot. He’s still not used to judging it’s tightness with just his hands rather than his toes. _

_ “Nice and easy. No hurry.” _

_ “Yep,” Peeta says and slowly lifts his torso so he’s upright on the board. He puffs out a heavy breath, lets go of Chaff, and bends his knees. Leans his hips back to lift his toes just a little. Back down. The board slides on its back edge, bit by bit with each lift of his toes, taking him down the gradual slope. _

_ “Good! Next step,” Chaff says when Peeta reaches the painted line where the slope increases marginally and the board slides without the added push of toe lifts. Peeta hesitates, replaying fall after fall in his head. He’s still not convinced that this was a good idea. It feels like living in the past. In the shadow of a future that can no longer be. He’s frustrated with himself. With how many failed attempts at this he made yesterday. _

_ “What did we talk about?” Chaff says when Peeta still hasn’t shifted. _

_ You already know how to fall. Now learn to pick yourself up. _

_ Lifting his left hand to hover next to his hip, fingers pointed away from him, Peeta leans towards it and the board follows, taking him a short way down the hill to the left. Then drops the left hand and lifts the right. He leans with it, a little less fluid but the board still goes with him this time. Back to the left. Chaff is yelling encouragement now and Peeta smiles behind his mask. He slides back and forth across the hill, his comfort growing with each shift in the notes of board scraping over snow in a new direction. When he reaches the bottom of the slope, he leans back and sits in the powder. _

_ “Again! Let’s see that again!” Chaff yells. Peeta waves to show that he heard and loosens the straps to carry his board back up the hill. _

_ This time, his slide is a little faster, the arcs smoother. With each trip down the slope, he feels as though another weight slides off his shoulders. Even when he wobbles and nearly loses his balance, the catch and correction is a victory. It starts small and slowly spreads from somewhere in his chest down to his fingertips, skipping along his spine. _

_ Joy. For the first time in ages he feels unfettered joy. _

_ Halfway down the hill on his fifth run, he tugs his mask down and tilts his head back, just to stare up at the gray sky and to feel the cool freckling of snow falling on his lips. It’s a perfect day for this. Maybe tomorrow, when he’s done talking with the lawyers Gramps hired, he can swing his board around and go straight down the hill. _

* * *

 

There’s a cold draft over my foot and I grumble before yanking it back beneath the covers. I connect with a warm leg and press the sole of my foot against the heat. Behind me, Peeta hisses in his sleep and then groans.

“You’re feet are freezing,” he mutters, his voice sleepy. His arm pulls me closer to his chest.

“Warm them up then,” I tease and wriggle in his embrace. My rear brushes against his morning wood and his fingers dig into my stomach.

“You just want me for my body heat.”

“I mean, it helps…” There’s a pause and then his lips are on my neck, his fingers searching for ticklish patches. I laugh and squirm at the kisses, his stubble scraping sensitive spots. Then his lips part and the heat of his tongue is on me. I moan and reach back to tangle one hand in his hair.

“What time are we supposed to meet Haymitch?” he asks and I groan because Haymitch is the last person I want to talk about right now, with Peeta’s lips rousing me to a fever, his fingers splayed on my abdomen and his hand sliding down to where I want him to touch me. We still have one condom.

“Seven,” I say and Peeta freezes.

“Seven?” He lifts his head and I fume at the interruption.

“Yeah,” I say testily and glance at the bedside clock.  _ 7:04. _ “Shit!”

I fling myself from the bed towards the bathroom, ignoring the blast of cold on my bare legs. While I’m in there, I think that it’s a good thing we at least took a bath last night, but I slept on wet hair and it’s impossibly tangled. I give up on taming it and start brushing my teeth, awkwardly bumping into a fully dressed Peeta as he tries to pass by me to take a turn. I’ve got my toothbrush clamped in my teeth, frantically yanking my hair back into a bun when he finishes and rushes back out to the living room. I’m throwing on clothes as he laces his boots, his coat unzipped and hanging off his shoulders.

_ 7:12 _

“Fuck, should have set an alarm,” he mutters as he stands and yanks open the door.

“Wait!” I shout and throw my arms around him. Our lips crash together in a bruising kiss and Peeta holds me to him. I don’t care how late it makes us. We have far too many uncertain partings in our past already. I refuse to allow any more.

“Okay. Now you can go,” I tell him when we come up for air. He grins and I give him a gentle shove out the door.

_ 7:15 _

I choke down an energy bar, fly through bundling up, grab my skis and my gear and run as best I can through the snow, chanting curse words as I go. I skid to a halt just inside the lodge and try to control my breathing.

Haymitch sits on a couch in front of one of the small fireplaces, leisurely eating something steaming and lumpy from a bowl. He squints up at me as I walk up to him, and I can feel the blush in my cheeks that has nothing to do with my recent sprint.

“You are nineteen minutes late. I trust you used that time to get warmed up,” he continues to eat and stare at me. “Now the real question is...where, oh where, is Cupcake? And why is he so late?”

I shrug and try to look oblivious. Haymitch hums and continues his breakfast. It appears to be some kind of scrambled egg and sausage dish. My stomach growls. His nonchalance aggravates me. He scrapes the bowl and stuffs the last bit of it in his mouth just as Peeta trips to a halt beside me.

_ 7:29 _

“Ah there he is. I hope getting your frosting licked last night was worth the workout you’re both about to endure, Cupcake,” Haymitch snarls and stands. Peeta’s face looks about as red as mine feels.

Haymitch isn’t joking either. He allows no time for chatting and hardly any time for rest as he runs us through aerobics, sprints, stretching us to the limit. Meals are rushed and silent. While I’m skiing and shooting, he’s got Peeta doing calisthenics in the snow. When Peeta’s up on his board, I’m running laps around the slalom course. When he finally leaves us alone, clinging to the edges of the pool, well after dinner time, I’m ready to murder him.

“Think he was trying to make a point?” Peeta asks, his breathing labored.

“Just a little one,” I say and Peeta laughs, dry and a little manic. He rests his head on the tile and concrete edge and I haul myself out of the pool. I’m going to be sore later, and I’m thankful Haymitch only has a half day of training planned for tomorrow.

“And I thought it was awkward trying to hide my thoughts of you when we were kids.” I sit next to him and drop my legs into the water. He looks up at me as I lean back on my hands. “So now what?”

“Well after that workout, I think we’ve both earned dessert.”

“Dessert?”

“Mmhmm. Bring your gear so we’re not late tomorrow,” I tell him and lean over to kiss him. He tastes like pool water, but I’m sure that I do too. 

I can feel his eyes on me as I walk towards the locker room and smile foolishly. Only, by the time Peeta makes it to my cabin, it’s clear we’re both too tired for anything other than massaging each other for a minute or two and then curling up to sleep. But as he wraps me up in his arms and I sink into the warmth of pleasant dreams and the feel of him beside me in the dark, I can’t regret it. Not even a little.

Next morning dawns warm and sunny. Melting snow rushes in rivulets towards streams and carefully placed drainage gutters, the sound a constant background noise. The snowpack is still thick enough that we can use it, although the top layer is wet and slushy, making skiing rough going. Spring will arrive here soon. In a handful of weeks, the place will be green and fragrant with new blooms, the air still crisp and refreshing. Beautiful.

We’re right on time for our training, although Haymitch doesn’t go any easier on us. 

“I have a long drive ahead of me. See you in Colorado, Sweetheart,” Haymitch says when he releases us after lunch, Peeta and I stand in the weight room, awkwardly looking anywhere but at each other.

“You should...probably get packed,” Peeta says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah,” I say, although packing is the last thing I want to do right now. I twist the end of my braid around my fingers and wish for the return of the ease we’ve regrown between us the past few weeks.

“I um, should get started on your skis,” he says, hiking his thumb over his shoulder.

“Right.” I don’t know how to bridge this gap. It was always looming on the horizon, but now that it’s almost here, I don’t want to go yet. The problem is, there’s Prim and my life in Colorado, and I haven’t had enough time to consider how Peeta affects any of that, or me. Or us. Or anything, really. He’s always been the one who’s good at jumping into the air or over gaps and somehow sticking the landing. I’ve always kept my skis firmly on solid ground. We’ve existed in a sort of bubble for weeks now, and as much as I would love to stay for the spring, my plans were set weeks ago.

“Can I … can I see you a little later? Maybe for dinner?” Peeta asks and I nod. “Okay.”

He hesitates and I make it easy on him, turning to head back to my cabin. I shower and pack. My hummingbird skis get placed in their special case Peeta built for them. The pictures on the mantle are wrapped back up in padding and tucked carefully between the clothes in my suitcase. Then I collapse in bed and take a nap.

When I wake, I stumble to the kitchen and gulp down a few glasses of water, a million scattered thoughts wandering through my head. I distract myself by checking into my flight online and getting my carry-on packed, including the iPod and green headphones. I call Prim to remind her what time my flight gets in to Colorado Springs tomorrow.

“Are you okay?” she asks at one point.

“I’m fine,” I say and then crumple. “No. I don’t know what to do about Peeta.”

“What do you mean?” she asks. I tell her as much as I dare without getting too explicit. I think Prim senses what I’m saying anyways.

“Well, maybe he’s distancing himself because he doesn’t know what happens after you leave tomorrow.”

Of course. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it myself. The last time I left, it came with ten years of silence. A silence his mother filled with abuse and falsehoods.

“Thanks, Prim,” I say.

“Anytime.”

I clean up and hurry back up to the lodge to use their business center. It only takes me a minute to print out what I need and as I’m leaving, my phone chimes with a text.

_ Wanna escape for a bit? _

I smile and stuff the paper under my arm to answer Peeta.

**_Love to. Where are we going?_ **

_ Can’t tell. It’s a surprise. Come get you in five? _

**_Why bother? I’m in the lobby._ **

_ Make that five seconds then. _

I fold up the paper and stuff it in my back pocket while I wait. Peeta walks through one of the doors near the slopes and waves to get my attention. He smiles as I hurry over to him.

“This way,” he urges and leads me out towards his jeep. There are chains on the tires today and I wonder what that means as he helps me up then climbs into the driver seat. I don’t have to wonder for long. “Okay we have a little bit of a drive, but I think you’ll find it worthwhile.”

The ride is surprisingly smooth over the packed snow on the roads that wind through the woods. I find myself singing along to Peeta’s music and dancing a little in my seat, enjoying the views when the trees part and I can see up to the top of the mountains or down to the valleys. Eventually, though, I find something to ask him.

“What did Ryen mean that day when he told you to ‘man up’?” Peeta thinks for a minute until his face lights with understanding.

“You mean the day that you kissed me the first time?”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d done it first,” I tease and Peeta blushes.

“Well that’s kind of what he meant. He was trying to motivate me in his own horribly effective Ryen way to tell you how I feel about you. I’d had a crush on you for forever and Ryen knew it. 

“Really?”

“Don’t give him too much credit for intuition, though. I wasn’t very good at hiding it.”

“Well I was clueless,” I say.

“You always were about things like that. Pretty much every guy at school had a crush on you at one point or another.”

“They did not,” I protest and Peeta laughs.

“Bet you didn’t know that Davis Mulberry had a thing for you in second grade.”

“He did not! He pulled my hair every chance he got.”

“I never said his was a healthy crush,” Peeta says. “Then there was Carter MacKenzie in fifth grade—“

“He gave everyone one of those love poems that year.”

“And the only one that wasn’t about Pokémon was yours.”

“That proves nothing,” I say and think for a moment about what he said. “How long is forever, Peeta?”

“Uh, well, probably the moment you asked me to go skiing with you and your dad.”

“We were five!”

“What can I say? I was a goner at an early age.”

“Only took you ten years to work up the nerve to say something,” I grumble.

“Yeah. To be fair, I was a little intimidated. Non-Pokémon themed love poems, Richard Scott singing all of his solos looking right at you in choir…I had a lot of competition.”

“No you didn’t. You didn’t have any competition,” I say and his eyes cut over to me. I glance down at my hands, somehow embarrassed at revealing my tender, youthful feelings for him, although I guess they aren’t much of a secret.

We fall silent for a moment before something else about my memories of that day come back to me.

“I’m guessing I still don’t wanna know what ‘tube socks’ means.”

“Nope, you don’t.” Peeta chuckles as he leans forward over the steering wheel to look up at something and smiles. “We’re here.” 

He parks the jeep and hurries around to help me out, then grabs a basket from the back seat while I stare up at a cabin on stilts. The front of it is nothing but huge windows. They wrap around on either side for a few feet as well. A SKI PATROL / PARK RANGERS sign hangs on the steps leading up to the door. A pair of snowmobiles covered in tarps, and a pair of four wheelers similarly covered, are parked beneath the cabin. I’ve never seen this place before. 

“Should I be concerned that you brought me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere?”

“No,” Peeta chuckles. “It’s still part of the resort, an outpost for some of the newer slopes,” Peeta says as he ushers me up the stairs. Inside, he sets aside the basket and directs me to take off my boots.

The cabin is fairly small, but warm, indicating that the heater’s been running or it’s only recently been vacated by ski patrol. A massive chart of the mountain covers half of the back wall, a desk with radios and log books beneath it. There’s a small kitchenette in the corner and a door to a full bathroom. A series of cabinets labelled as containing first aid and survival equipment along one side. A bunk bed and a fireplace on the second wall.

Peeta moves to the fireplace and works on starting a blaze while I turn and take in the panoramic view out the windows. My breath catches. It’s stunning. I can see several slopes and a newer ski lift. Over the tops of the trees to the roof of the lodge in the distance. And the sun setting behind the trees.

Behind me, Peeta clears his throat and I turn around to tell him that it’s beautiful. That’s when I notice the matress set up in front of the fire, an assortment of pillows and blankets scattered over it, the basket he brought with us, and the soft music emanating from a small speaker attached to his phone.

“I couldn’t let you go back to Colorado without giving you that date I owe you,” Peeta says.

I hide my smile behind my glove, looking over everything again. Here I thought he was distancing himself from me, and he was putting all of this together. I don’t know what to say, afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll ruin everything by crying.

Peeta’s smile wavers as I stay silent. “Guess I should have asked before I got this all set up, huh? I know it’s snow pants and frozen boots but I thought a fireplace might be an acceptable substitute for—

“Peeta,” I interrupt when I find my voice. “My answer is still yes.”

“Well that saves me from having to resort to Plan B at least.” He shifts his weight as I take my coat off.

“What was Plan B?”

“Shameless begging.” I laugh and settle on the mattress. He removes his coat and sits down to work his boots off, too. We both remove our snow pants.

“So where’s ski patrol?”

“These slopes get more sun and melt faster, so they were already closed today.” That means no interruptions. I grab one of the blankets and drape it over my lap as Peeta sets up a banquet for us. A savory lamb stew with plums served over a bed of rice. Steamed vegetables and warm tea. The cheese rolls the restaurant serves, my favorite.

We feast with a view of the world laid at our feet and the fire keeping us warm. Our conversation ambles until the plates are clean and Peeta packs up everything except one container, which I’m guessing has dessert in it. I’m so relaxed and happy, but there’s so much we still need to deal with tonight, before I get on that plane. Knowing this, I can’t help but ask a more serious question of him.

“What was it like the first time you got back up on a board? If you don’t mind me asking,” I say. Peeta thinks for a moment and then smiles. 

“Freeing.”

I circle my hand in the air to tell him I want to hear more. He takes a deep breath before he continues.

“There were days when it was a fight just to get out of bed. It was hard enough having to rely on someone else until the casts came off. Then learning how to walk again. Learning how to do everything again, really. I had Gramps and Dad telling me to keep fighting, that I could get through it. 

“And Mom telling me that she was the only one who could understand the disappointment that my life had become. She lost everything that mattered to her when she got injured, and now the same had happened to me, she said. Not much changed when the casts came off. One minute, she was the only one who could understand what I was dealing with, the next I was her greatest burden in life. They put me on one pain medication and then switched it when I started seeing things that weren’t there. It was like...a constant game of tug of war in my mind. With no winner. I never knew what to think or feel from one minute to the next.” 

He’s staring into the fire, lost in memories, but I’m staring at him, waiting for the mention of his absent best friend. I deserve it. This reminder that I abandoned him. Left him scared, hurt, alone.

“Eventually they got me off the pain meds only to prescribe antidepressants and that caused a whole new host of problems while they tried to figure out which one helped and didn’t just mess me up more. I’d found TAS on one of my better days, but never called. It was actually Ryen who shoved the phone at me after he’d already dialed the number so I couldn’t back out. I talked to Chaff, and while he had no idea about snowboarding with a prosthetic, he said he’d look into it. He talked to some other programs, got enough information that between the two of us plus a couple doctors and therapists, we could figure it out.

“Mom kept telling me I was wasting my time, that I should find other ways to make myself useful around the lodge. I kept falling, couldn’t even stay upright on the board. Ryen kept taking me anyways.

“Right after Christmas, I had a physical therapy session that hadn’t gone so well. When we got back to the lodge, Mom was on one of her tears and Dad walked in. I don’t know -- something in what she was saying to me set him off. I wasn’t even really listening. Just waiting for her to stop and leave me alone. Gramps and Dad were furious with her after that. The three of them had this awful fight that night and I kept hearing my name through the door. Then they kicked her out of the lodge and hired lawyers, called social workers and yet another therapist.”

I think about what Gramps told me. That she had called Peeta “useless amongst other things.” And I wonder what else she said. If maybe Peeta hadn’t been listening but heard the words and somehow internalized them. I realize then just how much of a battle he’s been fighting all these years.

“I felt awful. I knew it was something I’d done. That fear kids have when their parents get divorced? It was real for me. I was the reason my parents’ marriage fell apart. The reason Gramps stopped talking to Mom and threatened to have her thrown in jail. The reason Ryen and Graham both got new coaches mid-season. They all kept telling me it wasn’t my fault, it was hers. But that’s kind of hard for a sixteen year old kid to believe when it looks to him like the evidence suggests otherwise.

“And then… One day, I managed to make it down the hill without falling and everything else just...became unimportant, if only for an hour. On that board, I didn’t have anyone telling me what I could or couldn’t do, or looking at me with pity. Telling me what to do, what to feel. I could just be me.”

His eyes focus on me again and I know mine are watery. I can feel the tears forming and the ache in my chest as I wish that I’d been here for him. Maybe things would have been different if I had.

“If you’re going to apologize, don’t. Both of us got the shit end of the stick after that accident. You had your own problems that you were dealing with.”

“I should have been there for you,” I say and he shrugs.

“Well you could say the same about me being there for you after your parents died.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Just forget about it?”

“Not forget about it,” Peeta says. “Just be here now. And I’ll do the same. Maybe if we can be there for each other now, without blaming each other or ourselves for things that weren’t our fault, then maybe we actually have a chance.”

I want to ask what we have a chance at being, and how we can be there for each other if he’s here and I’m in Colorado, but Peeta leans forward and smiles at me.

“On that cheerful note, care to fail our diet again?” I’ve never been able to turn away from that smile, bright as the sun and just as warm.

“Depends on what’s in that last container.”

“Chocolate cream pie with a raspberry glaze.” I make a horrifying gasping noise because I can’t believe he’d keep that from me this long, and his smile widens to a grin. “Thought that might interest you.”

“Stop talking and start serving.”

When the dessert is gone and the picnic cleared, it’s full dark outside. I soak in the beauty of the stars in the inky black sky, but I still feel restless rather than sated. My foot bounces and I sway a little with the music playing. This time, Peeta gets the hints. He stands and adds a few logs to the fire, but when he faces me, he reaches one hand down for mine.

“Did you want to dance?”

“Yes,” I breathe as I place my palm in his and his fingers curl around mine.

We stand facing each other before the fire, fingers loosely laced together, hands hanging at our sides, bodies swaying. My eyes focus on a point just above his collar as I let the music flow through me. This was something we always shared. Movement to celebrate, to work ourselves up before competing, to just have a moment of fun with a friend. And now it holds another meaning. I surrender to its gravity and just as in the club that night, we draw closer. Closer. Until I can rest my forehead on his shoulder and breathe in his scent.

Peeta brings his hands up to rest on my waist. Now that my hands hang loose, they feel cold. I stuff them in his back pockets and follow his lead as his knees bend, bringing us closer still. 

“Katniss, I don’t want this to be just the fulfillment of an old dream,” he whispers, the words curling through my hair and sending shivers down my spine. “I’m not sure I can handle it if you leave tomorrow and don’t speak to me again for another ten years. I’ve already spent the last ten pretending it didn’t destroy me the first time.”

“That won’t happen,” I say and lift my head to look him in the eyes. How do I tell him that it’s the same for me. That I am terrified that by leaving here, I will somehow repeat the past. That ten years without him nearly destroyed me too.

“So how does this work? When you get back to Colorado?” I slide my hands up his back while I think about my answer.

“We answer the phone this time.” Peeta smiles, half a laugh escaping his lips.

“Obviously,” he says.

“And we listen to every message we get.”

“Every message? Even the annoying telemarketing ones?”

“Yes, even those. Don’t you know those are love poems in disguise?” I tease.

“How silly of me,” Peeta murmurs, but he nuzzles my nose with his and brings one hand up to cradle my cheek. He’s smiling, but I know that he needs more. We both do.

“I don’t know exactly how it works, Peeta,” I admit. “All I know is that I can’t lose you again.”

“So we won’t let it happen.”

I’m close to crying again, waiting for him to ask me for a promise, and I’m so tired of crying. I rise on my toes and press my lips to his. Warmth spreads through me, the thawing that heralds the start of spring. My hands twist in the fabric of his shirt as we kiss, bodies still swaying to the music. And it’s not enough. With him, it never was. Never will be. I need the warmth of his skin against mine, the promise that we can somehow heal from old wounds and grow from here. I shove his shirt up his back and Peeta lets go of me just long enough to lift his arms and finish it for me. He rests his forehead on mine and I can feel his breaths on my lips as his hands drop to my hips.

We were in such a rush the other night. While I wouldn’t change what happened or even how, I want us to take our time tonight. I place my hands on his ribs and run them over his skin, absorbing the heat and strength of him. I tilt my head and kiss over the sprinkling of freckles on his shoulders.

Peeta’s hands slide up my sides, taking my shirt with them. I raise my arms over my head, my eyes fluttering closed. The shirt plays with the light of the fire, flickering warm orange and dark gray behind my eyelids when it passes over my head. His hands reach mine and he doesn’t stop touching them, even as he flings my shirt aside.

He twines our fingers back together and we dance like that, arms above our heads, only my bra and a small pocket of air left separating us. I can feel how close he is based on the heat. His lips brush mine. I don’t chase after them yet. I murmur his name and he brings our arms down, leaving mine wrapped around his neck as his trail lower, fingers painting down my sides to my back. His fingers pluck at my bra strap, releasing the clasp. I move my arms long enough to toss the thing aside and then return them to his shoulders. I dip and take that last step into his embrace.

It feels so good. So impossibly good, the feel of his warm skin flush against mine. Peeta lowers his head, his lips press to my neck. We cling to one another as we dance and I know, I won’t be the first to let go. I’m not sure I’m capable of letting go right now.

The song ends and I bury my fingers in his hair, silently asking him not to stop. He doesn’t. His lips part and then he’s kissing my neck. Gently at first. Until the next song starts and I moan and my knees shake with the force of the hunger consuming me. I ate a full meal, but his kisses make me forget the meal. Forget everything except this need for him.

“Peeta,” I gasp as his teeth scrape over my pulse point. “Were you optimistic again tonight?”

He stops the motion of our hips, but before disappointment can sink in my gut, he answers. “Maybe a little.”

I step back and smile at the guilty look on his face, pull him back towards the mattress with me. “Well come on, then.”

Before my heels hit the edge of it, he helps me down to the mattress and I move to lay sprawled on my back. Peeta hovers over me, gazing down at me with more love in his eyes than I could ever hope to deserve. My heart swells with it. I caress my hands up over his arms. Because I need to do something with my hands and because I don’t want to stop touching him. Not for one second. He mirrors my touches with the backs of his fingers on my cheeks. 

Peeta moves to us back together, his hand cupping my cheek and his lips on mine, insistent and questioning all at once. I kiss him back until I feel it in my toes, tingling down my spine and pulsing in my core. I try to pour all the words I never got to say and all the ones I’m not yet ready to say into this kiss.

His fingers trail down my neck. Skimming over one breast with only a short pause to circle it. At some point, I close my eyes and allow myself to feel. Feel everything. Feel anything at all. 

The air in my lungs shudders out in a sigh as he traces round my belly button and then lower at the same time his lips shift to nibble and kiss my neck, my ears. I feel the tug against my lower back as he works the button and zipper loose on my jeans. My fingers clench on his arms and I bend up into his touch.

He moans as his fingers trace my lips through my panties. It’s slow torture, the way he touches me. So careful but with a desperate heat behind it, as though he’s afraid this is his only chance to touch me like this.

I grip his hair and search for the words to tell him that I want him to touch me like this tonight. Tomorrow. Every day for the rest of our lives if I can manage it. It seems too soon to say something with that magnitude, so I settle for asking for more right now.

I whimper in protest when his hand leaves me, but his lips trail down my torso.

“Do you know?” he murmurs and licks around my breast before sucking on the already hard peak until I moan and bend almost in half to get closer to his tongue. “Do you know how much I want you?” His hands tug on my jeans and I shimmy and squirm and kick my legs to help as he nips at my hip bone then kisses over it to soothe the sting. “I’m half out of my mind right now.”

He covers us with one of the blankets, keeping us warm and hidden. I can’t see him. I don’t like it when I can’t see him. I relax a little when I feel him settle between my legs, his shoulders pushing me open as his hands slide beneath me and hold my hips.

“Peeta?” 

I can’t see what he’s doing. If it’s his lips, his tongue, the tip of his nose. But whatever he’s doing, it unfurls desire from my center and heats me through. He better not stop, I think and then my head flops back on the pillow. I moan without shame and writhe up into his face. My legs clamp around his head as the need spikes briefly. Peeta pries them apart, holding them down as he kisses his way back up my body to my neck, my chest, and while that still feels so so good, it’s not what I need anymore. I need his tongue inside me, I need him to kiss and lick until I fall to pieces in his arms and can’t hold back the feelings but scream them to the night. It frightens me, but his voice reaches me and calms the fears.

“But as much as I want you, want to sink my cock inside you with your legs wrapped so tight around me there’s nowhere else for me to go but deeper -- fuck, Katniss --”  I’ve grabbed hold of his hair and keep his mouth on my chest, so his words are kissed into my skin. “I want to feel you come under my mouth first. A thousand times over if you’ll let me.”

His hands tug on my panties, and although I can’t pry my grip free of his hair, I do manage to wriggle enough so he can get the panties off. I can feel my arousal spreading down my thighs, my lips swollen and aching with the need to take his cock, his mouth. Anything he’ll give me at this point.

“I want to brand myself in your body’s memory so that when you’re Colorado, alone in your bed, you feel me anyways. Always. I want to make you blind with pleasure and unable to forget exactly who did that to you.” I’m already blind with pleasure, I want to say, but speech is not something I am capable of at the moment unless it is shameless begging.

“Yes, Peeta, please,” I say as he discards my panties and his mouth finally,  _ finally _ , makes the trip back down to my hips. Even then, he kisses over curves and thighs until I shove his head towards my core. I can feel his smile against my skin as he kisses the juncture of one leg before he sucks on my lips. His tongue traces them, parts them and then he delivers on his promises.

He makes the ache, the need, spread and grow, take root in my very heart as my pulse pounds and my lungs fight for breath. Air becomes unimportant. I grab onto his arms and beg without shame. I beg for more with my body, my voice, with everything I am. His moans only multiply the feeling, as if this is exactly what he wants of me, this begging needy creature, this deep response that I can’t control or orchestrate. Cannot analyze, hone or perfect. I cling to him, afraid that if I let go, I’ll never find my way back to earth, back to solid ground. He brings me to the brink and then backs off. Again and again until I’m sure that I’m going to die with his face between my legs.

I am clenched and taut and my arches hurt, my feet are curled so tight. I plead with him to let me go and this time, he doesn’t let up. My throat closes and I can’t breathe or make a sound. All I can do is feel. Bright, hot euphoria that pulses through me, leaves me limp and trembling in his arms.

Laying in the afterglow, I hum a content song while I catch my breath and wait for my heart to stop trying to pound its way through my sternum. When I pry my eyes open and lift my head, Peeta’s resting his chin on my thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my hip, a perfectly calm look on his face. Like he didn’t just give me the single most pleasurable experience of my life.

“Well?” he asks and I snort, narrow my eyes at him.

“You need to ask? I think you succeeded,” I tell him. He turns his head and kisses my thigh, his eyes never leaving mine.

“At what?”

“Everything,” I say and shift my legs. “Get up here.”

He does as I order, yelping when I push him off to the side so he’s on his back. My movements are sluggish, but I manage to get his belt and jeans undone, tugging them down and smiling at the bulge in his shorts. I felt more than saw the other night, an oversight I intend to correct right now.

Once I’ve got his jeans and shorts off, he takes them from me and I cup my hand over him. Peeta hisses and his cock jumps a little beneath my touch. I rub him, learn the feel and look of him. The way he responds, and eventually I lift my gaze to judge his reaction. His teeth are sunk in his lip and he’s watching me, but his hands are digging through his jeans pocket until he comes up with one condom and then two more that are still attached to one another. I lift one eyebrow and smirk at him.

“Hey. You travel with at least three pairs of skis. Don’t judge me,” he says and I laugh as he sets them aside, snatches my hand off him and kisses my fingertips. 

Then he turns so his legs hang off the mattress. I still don’t want to go one second without touching him, so I run my hands over his shoulders, down his back. Maneuver myself so that I’m hugging him from behind while he releases clasps and pushes his thigh further into his prosthetic until it releases. He clears his throat and sets it aside while I pepper kisses over his shoulders and neck.

Peeta turns his head a little to look at me, and I see uncertainty there. I lean closer and kiss him, taste myself lingering on his lips. It does strange things to me, tasting myself on him. Arousing things and my fingers clench, nails digging into him.

“Next time, be very optimistic.”

“How do you suggest I do that?”

“Just bring the whole box,” I say and then squeal as he turns on me, lifts me and throws me back on the mattress, laughing as my hair falls wild around me.

“Make yourself useful, troublemaker,” he says as he hands me the single condom, probably the one left over from the other night. He kisses my neck and whispers naughty words to me about how I tasted coming on his tongue while my hands shake, making it an adventure rolling the condom on him.

I reach for him once I have, but he intercepts my wrists and plants them on the mattress next to my head. He trails one hand down my body, between us, eyes honed in on mine as his fingers slide over my lips.

“Still so wet,” he murmurs and lowers his head to kiss me. Just once, leaving me wanting. “I want you dripping.”

He whispers to me as his fingers spread me, stroke me until I’m bucking up into his touch and my fingers are holding tight enough to the pillow to hurt. I think I might beg him for his cock, but honestly I can’t be sure what I say in those moments until he slides inside me and I cry out in relief.

Peeta seems as overcome as me, his breath shuddering against my lips as he kisses me and rocks his hips into me. Slow and steady. A dance, not a race. I let go the pillow and wrap my arms around to feel the movement of his shoulder blades. Our lips come together and part with each thrust. I shift my legs so I can rise up to meet him and we both groan. Our movements pick up and kisses turn into sloppy, open mouthed caresses.

His eyes close tight with the effort and I grip his ass, pulling him deeper into me. His chest drops, pressing me into the warm cushion, his fists grab onto my hair and my shoulder and he murmurs scattered phrases. Bites my shoulder and makes me buck into him. Our bodies rock together and I can feel the unfurling again. Lift my legs to bring him closer. Deeper.

Everything about it is erotic and loving with an edge of desperate to it than never quite pushes us over the edge. We’re somehow still tethered to each other, held back from release. He lifts his head and we kiss. Tongues tangling, hands on cheeks, in hair, and that’s when the tether snaps and we come together. With frantic thrusts and loud moans, clenching fingers.

Then it’s me wailing and singing his name, walls clenching, releasing an avalanche of delight down my limbs, up to my heart. Peeta groans and thrusts harder, deeper. It might hurt me if I weren’t so lost in my own release. His movements lose all rhythm and then he slams into me, lifts my hips up into his and holds us together. I feel him pulsing and twitching inside me and twist his hair around my fingers, hold his face buried in my chest while he finishes. 

As we did the other night, we lay there recovering wordlessly. My fingers toy with his hair and his body keeps me warm. The fire burns down until Peeta’s the one who shivers.

“Hold that thought,” he says and scoots across to the fireplace. He adds a few logs and stokes it back up, replacing the grate and then dealing with the condom before joining me again. I make sure he lays half on top of me. I like his weight and heat blanketing me like this, although I’m grateful when he covers us both with the actual blankets, too. Our lips find each other and I sigh into the kisses. When he lifts his head again, we’re both smiling. Then something occurs to me.

“Wait. Are there security cameras in here?”

“No, why?” Peeta shakes his head and I grin in relief.

“Because ski patrol sees everything.” He laughs and I pull the blankets up to cover our heads so I can kiss him some more.

Do we sleep? I don’t know. At some point, we manage to stop kissing and touching enough to at least doze off because I wake to his fingers wandering over my naked skin. The fire in the hearth has burned down to glowing embers, but the moon illuminates the interior of the cabin and the heater keeps it warm.

“Should we go back to my cabin?” I ask, although I don’t really want to. I’m warm and comfortable here with Peeta and only the moon to witness what happens between us.

“If you want to,” he murmurs. His lips feather over the back of my neck, down my spine. I roll to my back and he shifts to kiss my hips, my belly.

“Or we could -- yes!” I gasp when his mouth covers my clit again. “Do  _ that _ !”

I hold onto the flimsy support the blankets provide while Peeta reads my mind. I’m impatient this time, not willing to wait until he makes me comes with his mouth. One hand fumbling through the pile of discarded clothes until I find what I’m looking for and tear it open. We’re a mess of flailing limbs and hands and twisted blankets as I get him off of me and on his back.

He grabs fistfuls of my hair as I bite at his chest and get him sheathed. Take him in one swift drop of my hips. But once I have him inside me, I realize I don’t want to rush. I roll my hips over his, our chests sliding together.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Katniss. Don’t stop,” he whispers. Our eyes meet as I move over him, building on want. His hands caress over my shoulders and back, sending shivers through me that collect as pulses of pleasure between my legs. We don’t look away this time, not even to kiss. Once more, I feel that tether to him, pulling me back to him each time I retreat a little. 

His eyes grow hazy and dark, never stray from mine. I get close and then lose my grip. Shift my hips to try a new angle and still can’t get there.

“Peeta,” I whine. He braces a hand on the mattress and pushes us up to sitting. My hair is all over the place and I comb it back off my face as Peeta tightens his hold on me and rocks his hips beneath me. We embrace and move. I rake my fingers down his back as he finds the right angle, building the pressure inside me. Tighter and tighter, clenching round my middle and in my chest. 

I’m still staring in his eyes when I shatter in his arms. I see it in their blue depths when he follows right behind me. 

We’re a mess. Tangled limbs and blankets, scattered pillows and messy hair. Claw marks and love bites and heaving chests. Caressing hands and unanswered questions.

“You don’t have to go to New Zealand with me if you don’t want to,” Peeta whispers and I lift my head to scowl at him.

“I’m going,” I insist and he lifts his hand in supplication.

“I just meant that I know you’ve got your own races to run and they probably don’t line up with mine…” 

He trails off as I flop over to once more search the pile of clothes, taking half the blankets with me. I find my jeans and pull out the paper I printed earlier. Rolling back over, I smack it onto his chest and smooth it out.

“My first race isn’t until November, in Sweden,” I tell him. “Two and half months after your first event.” 

He takes the paper and squints at it in the moonlight. “Is this your schedule?”

“Yes. Add it to your phone. Tape it to the wall in The Locker. Put it on that damn board. But I am going to New Zealand with you.”

“Now I feel like a chump. I didn’t get you a gift,” he teases and I pinch his side.

“I already have your schedule.”

“Stalker.”

“You have no idea,” I say and then gasp when he flips us so that he’s hovering over me once more. I rest my hands on his shoulders and he smiles.

“I think I know what I can give you.”

“What?” I ask breathlessly.

“I’ll show you,” he whispers and dips his head to my neck. 

When he’s done with me, I’m glad it’s the middle of the night and there will be no one nearby because I’m fairly certain the walls of this cabin were not enough to contain the noises I just made. I’m hoarse and still moaning pathetically when he slides from between my legs and wipes me off his face. I barely have enough energy to move into his embrace before sleep takes me.

In the morning, we’re slow to wake and slower to gather our things together. We both know that when we leave here, the rest of the world will matter again. It hasn’t the entire night we were locked away from it. But now we have siblings and training, jobs and expectations in different states.

Once the last of the blankets and the sheet covered mattress are loaded into his jeep, Peeta pauses by my door. I wrap my arms around his neck before he can say anything and cling to him. His arms surge around me. And it’s like I’m on that stretcher again, watching them take him away from me. I fight back tears and sniffle loudly in the process.

“I don’t want this to end,” I whisper to him.

“It won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he says and I tilt my head back so he can kiss me as the sun comes up over the mountain.

Hours later, ensconced in a plane, I push the green earbuds in and close my eyes as I listen to our music and hope that he’s right. That we can keep our promises to each other this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there's a reason for the flashback here being from Peeta's POV but the main body remaining in Katniss' voice. Stick with me and it'll hopefully make some kind of sense. In the meantime, as a showing of good faith that I don't plan on dropping any heavy duty angst bombs on you despite the uncertain ending to this chapter, let's end this on a happier note. The conversation Katniss and Peeta will never know about…
> 
> “Good morning, Haymitch.”  
> “Eirik.”  
> “An early breakfast today. Does this mean an early start to training?”  
> “Yup. Seven a.m.”  
> “I would not count on punctuality this morning.”  
> “Oh?”  
> “I have not seen my grandson since last night. At the dinner party.”  
> Silence and meaningful looks are exchanged.  
> “Do with that information what you will. You might want to consider seconds if those toast squares and bacon are not filling enough.”  
> “I think I will have seconds. Thank you, Eirik.”


	17. A Summer Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carve yourself some free time, buddy. This sucker is 17k+ words. There's a reason for it, though, so happy reading!

_She tugs on the hem of her uniform shirt before tucking it into her khaki pants. Stares at her reflection in the mirror. A study in Americana fashion. A complete stranger. A lie._

_She lied on her application to get this job. Just a little._

_It took forever to type out the five letter word in the third box labeled_ Previous Employment.

S-k-a-d-i. Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

_She was never really paid for the lessons she taught beside her father, was never officially an employee. At the time, she justified her fibs with her need for a better paying job during the off season. Or just a job period since they moved to Colorado Springs. And now she has it._

_While the wages for this job aren’t ideal, Katniss has heard that the tips flow freely for someone who knows how to please. That’s not her. But she can shoot. She banks on her skill making her likable to the wealthy patrons. She doesn’t think about how someone else probably added to her lies to help her get the job._

_Katniss turns away from the lie in the mirror and holds her secret close. She got the job based on her shooting skills, she tries to convince herself. The man who interviewed her was more interested in that than asking about her past. Thankfully, Greg MacKenzie didn’t out her for her lies, at least._

_He was their neighbor. His daughter Leevy was kind of one of Katniss’ friends. She guesses. But the MacKenzie family helped her and Prim pack up their things and move. After. Sheila MacKenzie baked cookies for them to take on the plane to Michigan. Katniss can’t forget their multiple kindnesses. Even if she can never repay them. Greg was one of the range instructors and the most likely candidate to receive the promotion. To take over at least part of her father’s job. After. So she listed him as a reference on her application._

_She clocks in and heads out to the ranges to begin._

_Her first client is a portly man smoking a cigar. Plutarch Heavensbee, he informs her as he shakes her hand, although she can tell he’s wary. He practically crushes her palm in his. A woman in impractical heels, her hair pulled back into a severe bun accompanies him, tapping on a tablet and glancing up as Katniss suggests they start with shots from station four to warm up._

_“Where’s Mr. Hawthorne?” the woman asks._

_“He’s out for a few weeks taking care of his father,” Katniss gives the explanation she was handed along with the warning that many of the patrons favor a certain caddy and she might run into some friction over it. Of course her first customer is one of those._

_“Too bad,” Plutarch says in a cloud of smoke._

_“We were not informed--” the woman starts but Plutarch cuts her off._

_“It’s fine, Fulvia. I can do well enough with this young lady. Let’s get on with it then.”_

_He’s not very good, but Katniss holds her tongue and works the range, keeps his score for him. At the end of the day, she’s hot and tired, but at least she made a decent amount._

_They don’t listen to her. Not a one of them. She can tell that most of them dislike her, or at least distrust her. Until Plutarch gets frustrated with her comments that he’s not following through and hands her his rifle._

_“Let’s see you do it, pumpkin.” He crosses his arms and Katniss glances over at the other instructor on the range. He scurries up and sets the targets then nods at Katniss. She misses her first shot. It’s been awhile since she’s shot at moving targets. But then she makes the second and everything starts to come back to her, to feel natural. When she’s done and the extra shot gives her twenty-five targets that are nothing but shards of pottery on the grass, Plutarch claps his hands and chuckles._

_“Alright, hon. You’ve made your point. So what am I doin’ wrong again?”_

_After that, requests start to come in for her. Word travels quick. Plutarch books her for the entire summer. Her bank account doesn’t mind. He’s a big tipper anyways, but more so once his scores start to climb. The others warn her that she needs to back off and stop soaking up someone else’s tips._

_One day, when she’s running late, she rushes through the employee locker room, yanking her orange safety vest down over her navy blue polo shirt. There’s a stain on her khakis. She hides it with the pouch for her clipboard, sunscreen, pens, and score cards. Prim needed something for school this morning and Haymitch had already left for his own job. Katniss didn’t have time to find her spare pants before she had to leave._

_Her distraction causes her to knock over a gym bag sitting on the bench, spilling the contents on the floor._

_“What’s the rush?”_

_“Sorry,” she mumbles and drops to the floor to help him clean up his things. She blinks at the shirt that makes her think of Sae and the others back in New Mexico with the stripes and designs on it. Her eyes jump up to meet ones that are almost the same shade as hers. He could pass as her brother. Or her cousin, at the least. His expression relaxes as he looks over her and he nods._

_“You’re the new girl. Catnip.”_

_“Katniss,” she corrects and scowls at him._

_“They prefer it if you smile every now and then, Catnip.”_

_“They also prefer it if you’re not smug every now and then,” she says and shoves the shirt back in his bag before standing and leaving the rest of it for him to deal with himself._

_“I’m Gale,” he says. “Gale Hawthorne.” She’s heard all about him, although they’ve never met since he’s been off for three weeks, taking care of his ailing father. She respects that. Supposedly he can shoot as well as her too, but that doesn’t give him an excuse for being a jerk right now._

_“And I’m late,” she says and walks off._

_It’s another long day, tiring in how she has to bite her tongue and play along to basically court her clients. She reminds herself that she’s buying international plane tickets and calling plans and Prim’s future with this money. It makes the lie more palatable, but only just._

_“You stole Heavensbee. How’d you do that?” Gale asks her as she’s gathering her things to leave that afternoon._

_“I wasn’t smug,” she says and slams her locker to face him. “And his average score is up to 21.”_

_“Huh,” Gale says and tilts his head to examine her more closely. It makes her uncomfortable but she refuses to shift or cave. “They say you’re not a bad shot yourself.”_

_“They say the same about you,” she says and shrugs. “Although I’ll save judgement for when I actually see you shoot. For now, maybe you should try smiling more.”_

_At the door, she punches out and glances back. He’s smiling at her now, the expression completely changing his face. He’s actually fairly handsome. Her scowl only deepens and she heads home._

* * *

 

“Good morning,” I venture as Prim walks into the kitchen. I slide a plate with her favorite buckwheat pancakes topped with strawberries and yogurt across the counter towards her. She barely glances at it before browsing the cupboard we use as a pantry. When she pulls out the box of toaster strudels and unwraps one with vigor, I know just how angry she really is with me.

Not that I don’t deserve it, but to add another layer of insult, after she’s popped the processed strudel in the microwave, she picks up the plate I fixed for her and dumps the food into the trash. She turns her back to me as she waits for her strudels to finish, wraps them in a napkin and leaves for her classes without speaking one word to me. I sink into a chair at the table and bury my face in my crossed arms.

Even though I’ve only been back in Colorado for a matter of days, I’m seriously considering running right back to Wyoming. But that will do no one any good. I’ve done enough running to last a lifetime. Now I have to face it. If that means suffering Prim’s wrath for a few days, then I guess I earned it.

She’s furious with me over things I didn’t tell her about until I got back from Wyoming. Like the guilt I’ve been carrying for a decade about Peeta’s amputation, the things Agnes Mellark said to me the day our parents died, my desire to get as far away from that place as possible back then, and Eirik’s petition to be our guardian that went nowhere because of what I said to our social worker.

She was understanding and empathetic right up until that last one. That was the confession that led to her yelling at me for five minutes straight, then storming out for six hours until I was sick with worry and had left about a million messages on her phone. Haymitch had been no help, telling me to let her go. Give her space. I suspect he knew where she was the whole time and just wouldn’t tell me.

Now she at least knows the full extent of what happened, but I’m desperate to get her to say one word to me. Even if she yells it or it's to remind me of all the heartache we could have avoided if I hadn’t let Agnes Mellark get to me.

After my failed breakfast peace offering to Prim, the days fall into a pattern, one following the other. I alternate through a dizzying array of emotions, and if I hadn’t already beaten my slump, I’d be worried about it worsening. Luckily, I still have one person who loves me and is supporting me.

There’s at least two exchanges between Peeta and I every day, even if it’s just a couple of text messages to say “Good morning” and “Goodnight.” Most days, we do find more time to talk on the phone or through Skype.

I fessed up to Peeta about the guardian petition, too, and while he was upset at first, he said he understood why I said the things I did back then. Why I didn’t want to live under the same roof as his mother. He never once says the things I hear in my head. That if I’d stayed, maybe her treatment of him would have come to light sooner. Instead he reminds me that we were young and in pain and I did what I felt I had to do at the time.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Katniss,” he soothed when I was crying into the phone over Prim’s fury. “You made a choice to protect yourself and Prim. There’s no way you could have known how it would turn out.”

I’m glad he took it so well, because if both he and Prim were furious with me right now, I wouldn’t be able to deal with it. With Prim freezing me out, Peeta’s friendship is a welcome balm. It would be anyways, but I’ve begun to rely on his light and hopeful optimism once more.

Especially when I check the mail a week after my blow out fight with Prim and find a letter from CSU. I unthinkingly toss it into the junk mail bin to be recycled and Prim shouts before digging it out.

“That’s my first tuition bill for the next semester!”

“You don’t go to CSU,” I say, a little peeved that the first words she speaks to me in days is about a piece of junk mail.

“Yes, I do. I transferred two years ago,” she says, and then plops back down at the table and spoons cereal into her mouth calmly, as if we’re discussing the weather or Buttercup’s shots and not her education.

“Excuse me, you what?” I ask and Prim glares up at me. “When were you going to say anything?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Prim reminds me of why we’re fighting and stands with her bowl and tuition bill. She rinses the bowl, practically flings it into the dishwasher, and stomps from the room with the bill.

“Do I at least get to know why?” I shout after her. She slams her bedroom door in answer.

“She transferred without telling me. Two years ago!” I whine to Peeta that night when Prim is out with friends. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I really can’t say. She’s still not talking to you?”

“If the apartment were on fire, I’m not sure she’d tell me right now,” I mutter and Peeta whistles.

“That bad?”

“Yes. And what kind of sister am I that I didn’t even notice that she transferred...for two years?”

He suggests I pick a moment when she appears calm and ask her to talk about both issues so we can set things right between us, but all I get for that effort is a nasty look across the dinner table. She does start speaking to me after that, although I almost wish for the cold shoulder treatment again when she does. It’s not a conversation so much as it is her making a huge point of being a sarcastic little shit about the secrets that I kept.

_“I’m starting the dishwasher and telling you so you don’t accidentally put dirty dishes in when it’s done. Because sisters tell each other helpful things like that.”_

Or _“We’re running low on toilet paper and I’d go buy some but I’ve got this paper to finish and just letting you know so we keep those lines of communication open.”_

Or my favorite… _“Do you think I can wear this navy and black dress? I know it’s a total fashion faux pas to mix those colors, according to our dead mother, but I wanted to give you a heads up because I’d never make an important decision that affects your life without first asking you.”_

As much as I want to yell at her that she’s a royal pain in the ass, I know that beneath the nastiness, she has a valid point. I didn’t keep something trivial from her like the status of the dishwasher or our precariously low supply of toilet paper. Nope. For years, I kept secret from her a crucial decision that I made without consulting her. An emotional, knee-jerk decision that affected where and with whom we lived, not to mention both of our mental well being. Granted, she was only eleven at the time, but now she’s twenty-one. I should have found a way to tell her everything at some point in the past ten years.

In an effort to keep my spirits up, Peeta sends funny stories about some of the guests, but what works best are the pictures that he sends. He sends pictures of sunrises over the mountains, sunsets over the trees and valleys, hummingbirds drinking from blossoms. The meadows when they bloom, a riot of spring’s bounty. A few pictures of stray flowers growing in places that maybe they shouldn’t. The lakes shimmering in sunlight. A half finished snowboard. Gramps focused on the chess board in early morning light. He even snaps a picture of a herd of elk grazing. The pictures work wonders in helping me persevere through boring jobs, hard training, and Prim’s continued anger.

Seeing my home again through a new lens gives me an idea that I bring up over dinner one night, when I ask Prim for the rolls and she actually bothers to look up at me, although there is still ice in her eyes.

“What do you think about taking a trip back to Wyoming? We could stay at Skadi and everything. Maybe a week or two of vacation?”

She doesn’t answer other than to comment that the roast is a little dry. I grind my teeth on the food that it was my turn to cook and restrain myself from snatching up the vase of fresh flowers in the center of the table and throwing it at her. She brought those flowers home from the farmer’s market this afternoon.

But two days later, I see the first real thawing in her.

“My shift at the clinic ends at three. I’ll be home after that. My scholarships transferred just fine. It’s not anymore expensive than it was at UCCS. And I’m on track to graduate next spring with a dual degree in biomedical engineering and physical therapy. You can relax and stop worrying about me. I can adult just fine.”

That’s all I get. It’s something, at least, but I’m still worried about her. I’m worried that she’s taken on too much and isn’t fully enjoying her college experience the way she should. 

Problem is, I don’t get many chances to talk to her about it. She goes right back to her sarcastic announcements for another few days, making it clear that her transfer is not yet up for discussion. I’m about to send her to a time out when finally, the sun comes out a few days before her birthday.

“I’m short three credit hours. I need an elective.” She flops onto my bed with her laptop and frowns at the screen.

“Are you speaking to me today?” I ask and glare as Buttercup leaps up next to me. He prowls the surface and Prim taps her pen against her lip, not correcting her damn cat even though she knows how much I hate him leaving his hair all over my bed. “Oooh, how about the Science of Food Fermentation?”

I pause, pull my hand back from where it was hovering over the mouse pad on my laptop, ready to click the call button, to stare at her, certain that I heard her wrong. “Wouldn’t that be...making alcohol?”

“I am turning twenty-one you know,” she argues and I shake my head.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re joking. They don’t really offer that class.”

“Sure they do. It’s actually an entire degree program. See?”  Prim shows me her laptop screen and I squint.

“Fermentation Science and Technology? People go to your school to major in alcohol making?”

“Yep,” Prim says. “Remember Russell? He was majoring in this.”

“That dick bag you dated for like a week your sophomore year?” I continue when Prim nods. “Somehow I am not surprised that’s his major. We reached peak dude bro status with that trash compactor.”

“I’m surprised you even remember him. He was my worst dating decision to date though, wasn’t he,” Prim laughs and looks back at her screen. “But he always knew what drink to pair with what food. Oooh, maybe something in landscape architecture. We’d have the best garden in town.”

“We don’t have a garden,” I remind her.

“Not yet, we don’t. But if I take this class, I could create one next to your parking spot.” She grins and I shake my head. “Hey. I didn’t know we had a degree program in social work. Interesting.”

“Prim, I think you need to focus on what you’ve already picked and graduate. Unless you’re miserable with it. Are you miserable with it? You’d tell me if you were, right?”

“Oh my god, no. Calm down, Katniss. I’m not miserable and I’m not wasting precious tuition money. I’m just browsing, having some fun with my electives. I’ll probably take a literature course. Excuse to read for fun more. Besides, if I were miserable, I’d tell you because--”

“Not now, Prim. I know you’re mad at me and I get why. You’re right, okay? I should have told you. And you should have told me about transferring. Can we please move on?”

“Hey!” she says instead of answering me. “Which one should I take? Reading Without Borders, which is literature dealing with immigration, or Introduction to Native American Literature?”

“Flip a coin,” I say through gritted teeth, although she’s caught my interest. I don’t know why, but I find myself looking over her shoulder as she selects the Native American Lit class and finally submits her final registration for fall.

“There!” She smiles up at me, glances briefly at Skype open on my laptop and then back at me. She blinks innocently. “Weren’t you gonna call Peeta?”

“I was,” I say. “But then my sister interrupted.”

“Sheesh, fine. I’ll leave you to your Skype sex.”

“We don’t have Skype sex!”

Not that I haven’t considered it. Several times. I just don’t know how to initiate something like that. It was so much easier when he was right in front of me and I could just haul off and kiss him.

“The lady doth protest too much methinks!”

“You picked Native Lit, not Shakespeare, methinks.” She scoops up her laptop and her cat, but she pauses by the door before she leaves.

“I like your vacation idea. I can get ten days off from the clinic during the last half of June. Consider it my birthday present, yeah?”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll get our reservation and everything,” I say, trying to contain my excitement.

Excitement. It’s a strange thing to be feeling after all this time. Really, I’m just glad that she’s still listening at least, open to the idea of going home. Home to Wyoming. To Skadi and Peeta and Gramps. I’d suggested it as a desperate peace offering, but now that she’s warmed up to the idea, I know that it’s perfect. Exactly what we’re both needing.

“Good. I hope this trip includes a visit to that world class spa. I expect a fabulous time and you better not ditch me for your boyfriend. At least not every day. I can forgive one or two ditches because let’s face it, he’s yummy.”

“Peeta’s not my b--

“Too much protesting and blushing! Don’t lie to me!” Prim says, brandishing her cat at me. Buttercup hisses, emphasizing her point. Reminding me that it’s all my fault Prim is this riled up.

“We’re not official,” I hedge and she narrows her eyes at me.

“If I _were_ speaking to you, which I am not because I can’t trust a sister who keeps _BIG SECRETS_ from me, I would tell you that you’re an idiot with boys. And to ice that knee.” She spins on her heel and leaves my room.

“Good thing you’re not speaking to me then! Hypocrite!” I yell after her. I hear her scoff and then her music starts up in her room right before her door closes. I groan and grab my pillow, bring it up to bury my face in it and yell a few obscenities. And not just about her being a brat.

Prim has hit a sore nerve. One that I’ve been ignoring since I’ve been too busy dealing with her temper on top of the rest of my life. Ever since I made it back to Colorado Springs, my conversations with Peeta have felt like the kind that you have with your best friend. Unfortunately platonic.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. He is my best friend. And I’ve missed him. So much. I didn't realize until I had him back just how much I’d been longing for Peeta. For years. A constant background hum in my brain that I didn’t know the answer to until I reconnected with him. A wish for my closest childhood friend, the boy I grew up with.

But now, I’m wondering what happened to that frenzy of desire that ignited between us on my last trip home. We only had a few days to feed it and yet I still feel it now. I just don’t know if he does too. I can’t get his words about our nights together being nothing more than a fulfillment of an old dream out of my head. He said he didn’t want that, and now I’m worried that’s what they were anyways. For him, if not for me. Maybe we burned out too fast.

It shouldn’t matter. I have my friend back. Unconditionally. I shouldn’t care if we slip out of being lovers too. I’ve got more important things to worry about.

When I’ve got my temper a little more under control, I look down at my knee and wince. Ice might be a good idea. Summer is a time for perfecting the smallest details in technique so that when winter arrives, I can put them all together and each step is fluid and flawless. Today it was getting into and out of prone shooting positions. Up down. Up down. Over and over until I got tired and banged my knee.

I sigh and go get some ice from the kitchen, grumbling at Prim’s closed door as I walk by. I wish I had the courage to say half these things to her face, but as I discovered that night I told her about Eirik’s request to be our guardian, she’s like our mother when she’s angry. Terrifying. Relentless. Righteous.

Once I’m settled on my bed with my ice on my knee, I return to Skype, fiddling with my braid while it rings cheerfully.

“Hey!” I can hear him before the picture comes into focus, but the sound of his voice instantly calms me. I’ll work things out with Prim. She’ll forgive me eventually. She always does, and the trip home to Skadi will go a long way, I hope.

“Hey,” I say and smile as the picture finally settles and I can see him. I’m not ready to talk about me, so I make sure we focus on him first. Besides, I want to know. “How’d it go this morning?”

“Pretty good! Took a nasty fall when I got too ambitious, but thankfully prosthetic legs don’t get turf burn. Tomorrow we’re working on starting gates.”

I wince and try not to freak out. Summer also means using wet astroturf to train in place of snow covered slopes. But the mechanics of his training are not what I am interested in right now. I’m interested in his first meeting with the para snowboard team.

“What about the team?”

“I regret not doing this sooner,” he says with a wide smile and relief courses through me.

“Tell me about them?”

“I’ve only met the other LL1 guys so far, but if the rest of the team is like them, it’ll be amazing. They’re so upbeat and welcoming. Guess because we’re still a growing sport. So there’s Beetee Latier who’s sort of hosting us for this meet up, and he’s got a thing for limbs.”

“A thing for limbs?”

“Yeah! He’s some kind of literal genius. The others call him ‘Stark,’ and he designs and builds prosthetic feet, legs, knees, what have you, for athletic needs. Specifically sports where you take some impact like snowboarding, wakeboarding, skateboarding, motocross. He actually offered to build a set for me to try out. The whole team apparently uses his designs.”

“Wow,” I say, a little stunned.

“I felt a little weird at first, you know? Strange guy I met five seconds ago starts poking at my leg, pointing out flaws, and suggesting improvements to it. I should be insulted, right? But then he got a look at my board and started asking all kinds of questions about my setup, the boots, the whole works. He’s got an eye for detail and picked up on a few things most people wouldn’t notice. Anyway, next thing I know, all of them wanted to try out my boards.”

“You went full board nerd on them, didn’t you?” I ask.

“Hey, it was welcome with this crowd.”

“I’ll bet,” I say, a little jealous that the team got to see his new board first.

“So then there’s Ansel Marvin. Guy doesn’t say much. Half the time he looks like he’s napping on his feet, but he’s got perfect comedic timing. I can’t explain it, you’ll have to experience it. And the last guy is Trevor Banks. Guys call him ‘Blight.’ I don’t know why yet, but I think he was a cheerleader or a marine or maybe a lumberjack in another life. Very gung ho yet oddly motivating.”

I laugh at the picture he paints. Peeta talks for a few more minutes about working with the guys who will be both team mates and competitors. I’m left wondering how he does it. I’ve known my so-called team mates for a few years and know less about them than Peeta learned about his team in half a day of training.

“Do I get to see it now? Your new board?”

“I may have built three. I couldn’t decide.” I smile, but I’m back to feeling warm and relaxed and have completely forgotten the pain in my bruised knee or the pain that is my little sister.

“However will you tell them all apart?” I have some idea. He sent me two more sets of hummingbird skis, exactly like the first pair he made for me, for my birthday. That was how he got away with not charging me, by claiming they were my birthday presents. I’m already plotting how to get him back for that. The graphics on each set of skis are different enough for me to be able to tell which set is which.

“Glad you asked,” he says and picks up one board to show to me. I smile as he holds it still for me to see the mountains. Not the picture he was painting on his tablet that night he was hiding in The Locker. For this one the mountains and the stretches of land at their feet are covered in snow and sparkle under full sunlight. Bright blues, subtle greys, dashes of evergreen, and of course blinding white. “This one’s more flexible. More for varying terrain and alpine courses.”

“Hence the mountains.”

“Yep. And call me sentimental, but I liked the idea of taking a piece of home with me. The bottom isn’t exciting. Just flat black.” I bite back a smile as he sets it aside to pick up another board. “So the mountains are on the bottoms of the other two, although they’re a little different.” He shows me the mountains in a summer rainstorm, wild and gorgeous, then flips the board over and shows me the top. It’s blue and gray yet somehow not. The shades shift with the light, making it look almost like sunshine on the lakes.

“How’d you do that?”

“I’m still not exactly sure. I was experimenting and this was an accidental result. Which sucks because it’s a great business card if I knew how to repeat it. This one’s my favorite though.”

He picks up the last board and shows me the mountains on the bottom while he talks about how the last two are a little more rigid and built for speed down a mostly smooth race course, so he’ll probably use one of those two most often. The last board is the painting he showed me that night in The Locker, the snow covered mountains glowing almost orange in a sunset.

Then he flips it over to reveal a pewter gray top surface. I squint at the words printed in bold lettered, soft orange text, right next to the straps, almost like labels.

“Real...Not Real…” I read out loud.

“So I don’t forget which foot goes where.”

I cover my mouth and nose with both hands to hold back the snort and my laughter threatening to break free.

“I’m sorry, Peeta. I shouldn’t --”

“It’s okay, you can laugh,” Peeta says with a smile. “That’s kind of the idea. The guys loved it.”

“So when do you head back home?”

“Four days,” Peeta says, setting aside his board and shifting so his face is closer to the screen. “What about you? Is Prim still mad at you?”

“Yes,” I say with a sigh.

“Give her time. It’s a lot to process,” Peeta reassures me.

“She is warming up a little,” I say, debating if I should tell him or not. I decide surprise is not a good tactic in case he winds up leaving town for training or something. Plus I’ve gotten in a lot of trouble for keeping secrets lately. “I may have bribed her with a weeklong vacation at one of the Tetons’ finest mountain resorts.”

“Bribery. Good plan,” he says and then it sinks in, what I just told him. “Wait. You mean you’re...”

“We’ll be there sometime in the last half of June. I’ll let you know specific dates when I’ve made the reservations.”

“This day just keeps getting better,” Peeta says with a huge smile. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Me too,” I say and my heart thuds a little faster at the thought of seeing him again. Being in his arms. Kissing him. Maybe more, if I can get away from Prim long enough and if my fears about Peeta’s feelings are unfounded.

“Any chance I can convince you to go on a second date with me while you’re on your vacation?”

With just those few words, he allays my fears. His cheeks are pink and his smile hopeful, slightly shy even. I bite the inside of my cheek and try not to squeal like a silly school girl.

“Shameless begging might persuade me.”

“Hold on, I’ll get on my knees.”

“Peeta stop,” I say as I laugh and he smiles at me, already halfway to the floor before he stands back up and flops onto his bed in front of the laptop. “Of course I want to. It’s Prim you’ll have to persuade. She’s already said I can’t ditch her too much while we’re there.”

“Okay, what kind of dessert does she favor these days?”

“You’re going to bribe my baby sister with dessert so you can take me on a date?”

“Every night, if that’s what it takes to get one date with you.”

“Almost anything cheesecake.”

“Noted,” he says and then shifts the conversation to ask more about how my day went otherwise.

I tell him about training and vent for a few minutes about my summer job on the ranges at a swanky country club. It’s been getting to me lately. More than usual, at least. The kissing up to members for tips, pretending that their jokes are funny and not offensive. By the time we hang up, I’m calm and relaxed. Happy, even.

So it doesn’t even bother me when Prim walks by my open door with one hand over her eyes and says, “I hope you’re not naked with that door open. You might traumatize your poor little sister and we wouldn’t want _that_ now would we?”

I grab the pillow that I screamed into earlier and throw it out the door. It misses her and Prim chortles.

“Methinks you need more training, sister dearest!”

Between work and training, the rest of May and the start of June flies. Colorado Springs is often busy with visitors in the summer, just as it is in the winter. The closer we get to our trip, the more Prim speaks to me, and I start to believe that she will eventually forgive me.

Peeta and I stick to our unspoken agreement that we somehow check in with one another at least twice every day. Sometimes our text conversations are rapid fire and filled with what I think are flirtations and innuendos, but neither of us says anything direct. There’s still some filling in of ten years worth of blanks, but it’s mostly all about now and the upcoming months.

In early June, he sends more pictures of the meadows, transformed to the deep greens and pale yellows of summer, rolling waves of mountain grasses. The wipe board when it’s done, including new drawings done by Peeta’s hand of the four of us, and my hummingbird flock.

When I receive that picture, I run my finger over the squares that show where Peeta’s and my competitions overlap. My season is pretty demanding for the first two and a half months, leading up to the Olympics, and as much as I don’t like the idea of us not being there for every one of each other’s events, we’ve done that before. We can learn to do it again. What concerns me are the two events I have between March 9th and 18th...the same time as the Paralympic Games. It means that I may have to make a choice, if Peeta makes the paralympic team. They say it’s likely he will, but they want to see how he does before they decide to take four snowboarders for his classification.

I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do about that potential conflict when Prim and I pack our suitcases into the back of my car and drive north. She’s finally speaking to me without the sass, but I know that I’m on thin ice.

As we wind through the mountains, she rolls down the window and puts her hand out to surf over the air. The mountains here aren’t that much different from Colorado Springs, but the smile on her face suggests that just like for me, these mountains hold something that exists nowhere else in the world. They can’t be replaced or imitated for us.

She squeals and points out sights from our childhood as we wind up to higher elevations. Things that haven’t changed and those that have. The cowboy bars and the groups of people pausing to photograph the antler archway in town. We drive by a bus load of tourists getting ready to go rafting down some of the rapids and Prim waves.

There’s one point when both of us sober and I reach across the center console to hold her hand. A patch of guard rail you’d never know was replaced ten years ago, after a drunk driver plowed into our parent’s truck and sent it through the rail and into the river. Killing them both.

She squeezes my hand and whispers to me, words I barely hear over the wind through our open windows.

“Can we go see them? Just once.”

“Sure,” I manage to say and have to clear my throat afterwards.

“You didn’t…?”

“It didn’t feel right. Not without you, Duck,” I say and she nods. We’re quiet after that. I drive. Make the turns and focus on the road until the trees part and Prim leans almost her entire upper body out her window and gasps.

“It hasn’t changed a bit, has it?”

“Not really,” I admit as I smile at her and then at the stone and timber facade of the main lodge. I pull into the looped drive in front of the lobby doors so we can check in. Prim squeals again and launches herself from the car before I’ve completely stopped.

“Ryen!” She screams and my foot slams the rest of the way on the brake, making the car jolt to a stop. Peeta didn’t mention that his brother would be here this week.

“Holy shit! You can’t be Primrose. You’re too tall!” Ryen says and laughs as she nearly knocks him over in her eagerness to hug him. He spins with his arms around her and her feet kicked up behind her. When he sets her down, he steps back to look her over. Or check her out. “What happened to that scrawny kid? You’re all grown up!”

As I get out of the car, Ryen looks up at me with a mischievous smile, his hands still on Prim’s arms. “Hey there, Katniss. Miss me?”

“Only in your dreams,” I say and he grins. I motion towards his chin and the scraggly soul patch. “You’ve got a rat sprouting from your face.”

Behind me, I hear Gramps chuckle and turn to see him. Today, he’s out of the chair, with assistance from a cane. Prim yells his name too, although she’s much more careful claiming a hug from him. They stand there, murmuring their greetings and swaying for a moment or two as I look over his shoulder for Peeta. Before I realize what’s happening, Ryen picks me up and moves me over so the four of us wind up in a hug. I bite my lip and accept the affection, still wondering where Peeta is.

How different this return feels. Just a few months ago, I was terrified and wanting to avoid everyone. Now they’ve met us at the threshold with embraces. It feels like a real homecoming.

When Prim finally releases Eirik, she loops her arm with his and leads the way into the lodge, talking a thousand miles a second as he smiles and listens attentively.

“Keys,” Ryen says with a wicked grin and I shake my head.

“No joy riding for you.”

“Come on, really? With this hunk of junk?”

“This hunk of junk gets me from point A to point B with reliability.”

“What’s the fun in that? It’s so… dull.” I look askance at him and he wiggles his fingers in a clear motion for me to hand over the keys.

“I swear I’m just getting out your luggage and making sure you don’t have to use valet and parking services, okay? Besides, if you don’t get in there quick, you’re gonna have bigger problems. Gramps will put you in a suite and waive all your expenses from here to eternity. Make your choice.”

“Shit,” I mutter and throw my keys at Ryen. I race after Prim and Gramps, propelled by his laughter and his shout that he’ll tell Peeta we’re here. I’m too late, though. I reach the front desk just in time for Prim to accept key cards from the concierge and turn to me with a huge smile on her face.

“We’re in a suite?”

“Gramps,” I chastise. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Please, allow me spoil you both while you’re here. I’ve not had many chances to do so lately.”

“Yeah, Katniss,” Prim says and the look she gives me has me clamping my mouth shut. Eirik glances between us and I nearly wilt with shame. Prim saves me from explaining by once more looping her arm with Gramps and resuming their conversation while he shows us to our suite. It’s actually not too far from the owner’s suite and I’m once more wondering where Peeta is.

“Settle in, refresh yourselves after the drive -- ah! You’re luggage is here already, excellent. Thank you Carl and Benson,” Eirik says as two valets hurry in with the bags and set them up on luggage racks and then disappear just as quickly. Before I can tip them. I fume a little at Ryen for not sticking to his word, although why I’m surprised is beyond me. “If you are up to dinner in the restaurant--”

“Oh yes!” Prim gushes. “What time?”

It’s all so much, so fast and it throws me off, leaves me breathless as they arrange our dinner plans and then Eirik excuses himself with a quick wink in my direction. To give us privacy, he claims. As soon as he’s gone, Prim moves to the window and stares out at the forest. We’re up in the canopy, not high enough to see over the trees. But I rather prefer the lush green view. It reminds me more of the cabin we lived in as kids.

I open my mouth to say something to my sister, but before I can manage, she spins around and holds me to her in a crushing hug. It takes me a moment to register what’s happening. When I get my arms around her, she sniffles a little.

“I love you,” she says and then she heads towards the bedroom where the valets deposited her luggage before I can answer. “Just gonna shower to get the road grime off okay? Then maybe we can go out to the meadow until dinner?”

“Whatever you want,” I say right before she shuts the door between us. I sink into one of the couches and try to sort through the whirlwind of feelings.

Shortly after I hear the water start, there’s a knock on the door. I stand on mechanical limbs and open it. Calm heat suffuses through me in an instant at the welcome sight of Peeta’s smiling face.

“Hey,” he says, but that’s all he manages before I pull him into the room, into my arms, and slam the door behind him.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Something different. Something to change. Or maybe to fade. Instead I find myself moaning into his kiss and aching with relief. Of course he still kisses me as though it’s our first and last chance to do so. Holds me in a way that feels like both a promise and it’s fulfillment.

When he finally lifts his head, I’m ready to drag him to my bedroom. Maybe the suite isn’t such a bad thing after all. I had booked a room with two double beds, and that wouldn’t have left us with many options.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Peeta whispers and I smile, winding my fingers through his hair.

“So am I,” I say and then he resumes kissing me.

“Hey Katniss, do you know where--eep!” Prim’s words and the slam of her door have me jumping in Peeta’s arms.

“Some warning, next time!” she shouts through the door and I blush at being caught wrapped so completely around Peeta. We were pretty into our kisses.

“You can come out now,” I say as I step out of his embrace and he at least looks a little sheepish.

“No, I can’t,” she insists through the door and I scowl at her odd behavior in greeting Peeta after she practically threw herself at Ryen. “Hi Peeta.”

“Hi, Prim.”

“I just need to know where my bathroom bag is, Katniss,” she says and my cheeks heat more as it occurs to me that she’s probably in her robe or her towel, ready to climb in the shower.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Peeta and take care of Prim, slipping her bag that wound up in my room through the cracked door.

“Sorry to interrupt. I’ll crank up some music and take a long shower,” Prim says and then shuts the door between us once more.

I want to shout at her that I don’t plan on having sex with Peeta right now -- at least not while she’s awake and might hear us, but wasn’t I just contemplating doing exactly that? When I finally turn around to face him again, he looks so adorably flustered and uncertain that my pulse kicks up and my heart aches.

“Guess we should tone it down, huh?” Peeta asks and I shrug.

“She’s going to give me shit whether we do or not,” I say, but we still settle on the couch and spend the time catching up rather than what I really want to be doing.

As soon as she’s showered and emerges fresh and dressed in a sundress with a leather jacket over her arm, Prim hugs Peeta and starts back in on her marathon conversation. She at least invites him to take a walk with us, although we don’t make it all the way out to the meadow. We stick close to the lodge, instead wandering through the employee cabins. Prim finds a few people she recognizes from our childhood and lights the evening with her cheerfulness.

Peeta holds my hand the whole time, his thumb lazily tracing back and forth over my skin. I steal glances at him, wondering if he knows that he’s reawakening an insistent hum in my veins. A desire to tell the whole world to go to hell so I can be alone with just him. It has me thinking of tonight and beyond that.

Prim’s cheeks are pink and she’s smiling broadly when we make it back to the main building for dinner. Ryen and Gramps meet us at the restaurant and my torment continues. All through dinner, my hand migrates to rest on Peeta’s thigh under the table. His fingers brush over my wrist and his smile brightens whenever he turns to talk to me. The humming intensifies.

I shift every few seconds in my chair while Prim regales the table with funny stories of patients at the physical rehab clinic she works at as an intern. And then Ryen finds a way to make me forget my need to drag Peeta to my bed.

“I mean, can you blame the poor guy? Of course he’s a doofus around someone as gorgeous as you,” he says to Prim with a charming smile. She blushes prettily, and I can’t hear anything she says over the roaring in my ears.

“She’s seven years younger than you,” I point out and Peeta squeezes my hand.

“And that makes me incapable of recognizing her beauty?” Ryen winks at me and then ignores me to keep flirting with Prim while I grind my teeth.

It’s not that I don’t like Ryen. I mean, he’s practically like a brother to me, but that also means that I know how he is with girls. Always has been and never changed. Pretty words and pretty gestures until he gets bored with them and leaves them crying over a boy they never should have trusted in the first place. He’s easy to get and impossible to keep.

Peeta and Gramps try to distract me with talk of training and New Zealand, current events, basically anything but the flirtations going on across the table from me. We might still have issues to resolve, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch my baby sister’s heart get shattered over a summer fling with Ryen.

“I’ve been trying to convince Peeta to join, too,” Ryen says, waving across the table and catching everyone’s interest.

“No one cares what I had for breakfast,” Peeta says and I look between the two brothers, wondering what this is about.

“You’re stuck on stupid details. It doesn’t have to be about that,” Ryen says. “It’s great for promoting yourself. Making sure everyone knows your name.”

“I don’t need to be famous either,” Peeta says.

“Get a big following and you don’t have to accrue as many points to make Team USA,” Ryen suggests and I scowl at the implication that Peeta would take a shortcut or be added to the team based on anything other than merit.

“I’ve already got accounts for the lodge and Skadi Skis to run. I don’t need to add a personal one. The people I want to talk to have my phone number already. No thanks.”

“Back me up here, Rose. You get what I’m saying,” Ryen says. I arch an eyebrow at my sister and mouth the word _Rose?_ She doesn’t seem at all affected by the endearment, focusing her attention on Peeta.

“Katniss said you teach adaptive snowboarding camps,” she says and Peeta nods. “Well I mean, most of the time, I don’t get to watch Katniss compete. I can’t get away from my classes to go with her and most of the stations here in the US don’t care about biathlon. I have to pirate European stations or visit weird sites to stream afterwards a lot. Even then, sometimes all I get is like a ten minute synopsis. Bonus! I can understand German now.”

“So?” I ask, a little perturbed at what she’s saying. “You’re busy. You’ve got your own life to lead. And I keep you updated with how I do.” Most of the time. The look she gives me makes me realize just how little I do update her when I’m on the road. Mostly all she gets is updates on where I am and that I’m safe.

“My point is that I think it’s the same way for para snowboarding. A lot of Peeta’s students probably won’t get many chances to watch him compete. If you have personal social media set up -- a Twitter account, an Instagram, heck even a tumblr would work, you could post updates or videos and your students could follow you better.”

“Now _that_ makes sense,” Peeta says with a smile and Prim returns it.

“I tried convincing Katniss to start a Twitter--”

“I told you I don’t know what to say.”

“And she also hates the idea of anyone knowing _anything_ about her life,” Prim says and Gramps looks between us again, making me back off of Prim. I really don’t want to play out our drama here at the dinner table.

“I haven’t completely ruled it out,” I say and then focus on my dinner.

“Great! So you’ll both let me set you up?” Ryen asks eagerly, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Uh no,” Peeta says with a shake of his head. “We’ll set up our own accounts, pinhead. We’re not that dumb.”

“Suit yourself, runt,” Ryen says with a shrug, but he’s smiling. From there, dinner is relaxed and easy going.

As Ryen escorts Prim back to our suite after dinner, his hands wandering a bit too freely over her back and her arm, Peeta grips my hand and slows his step. I try to move faster, to catch up to my sister. Until Peeta leans over and whispers in my ear.

“So are we okay with that or do I need to talk to Ryen?” I whip my head around to glare at him and he smiles wistfully.

“He won’t listen.”

“Probably not,” Peeta admits. “You might have better luck talking to Prim and warning her.”

I snort and we watch our siblings flirt shamelessly. It pisses me off, and not just because I don’t want to watch my sister get her heart broken. I don’t want it to be Ryen who does the heart breaking. I’d hate to have to punch Peeta’s brother in the face. And okay, there’s a part of me that feels a little jealous that Peeta’s not flirting with me the way his brother is with my sister.

Then I bring my eyes back to his. There’s a silent question in them. A fear, maybe. Is he wondering the same things that I have been? Is he afraid that the distance is too much for us? That we won’t survive grueling competition schedules apart from each other. That we might not even survive the mild warmth of summer apart. But beneath the fear is also the steadiness I always feel in his presence.

“They’d be awful together,” I say and Peeta chuckles. “She’s so stubborn and bossy.”

“And he’s obstinate and ungovernable,” Peeta whispers, making me smile as he brings my hand up to his lips. A shiver of heat runs through me. “Maybe we should just let them figure that out for themselves. They’re both adults. Well...she is.”

I laugh and shake my head as I think of what it’s been like living with her the past few months. “It’s only a week, right?”

Before I’m ready to say “goodnight,” we reach our door. Ryen pecks Prim on the cheek and she smiles. I’m disappointed when Peeta kisses my temple and murmurs a wish for me to have sweet dreams before he drags Ryen down the hallway.

In our room, Prim changes into pajamas and turns on the TV. “Care to watch a movie or something?”

Well she’s been so cold to me lately that I agree. I shower quickly, just to wash off the day, and bounce a little as I jump onto the couch next to her. She offers me a bowl of popcorn and motions to the screen.

“I picked. You don’t get to complain.”

It’s a sappy romance movie, but I find that I don’t have many complaints because Prim actually speaks to me during the breaks. Nothing important, really, but it’s progress. Finally, though, I can’t resist asking.

“So...Ryen,” I say and then regret bringing it up as she glances at me and rolls her eyes.

“Don’t even go there,” she says and I shake my head.

“He’s too old for you Prim.”

“He is not. I’ve dated someone two years older than him.”

“When?” I ask and it sounds like a screech.

“During your last season.” I clamp my mouth shut and stare at her. When she remains silent, I glance back at the TV and twist my pajamas in my hands. All this time, I thought Prim had been confiding in me, trusting me. Now I’m finding out all sorts of things I never knew about my baby sister. It’s not until the next commercial break that she speaks again.

“You can stop worrying about me, you know. You always do this. I’m not an idiot. I actually had great role models. My sister -- the strongest woman I know -- and the man who raised us in our parents’ absence. He’s crotchety and swears too much, but he’s got a good heart and doesn’t allow anyone to walk over him.”

I don’t know what to say and Prim mutes the movie to focus on me.

“I didn’t tell you about the transfer because I didn’t want you to worry like this, the way you always worry about me. I know it’s because you love me and want to protect me, but you and Haymitch taught me how to protect myself.”

“I just don’t want you to get pulled in by flattery and flash with no substance,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

“Oh please, I know what Ryen’s up to. I am not in any danger of falling for him. He’s really not my type, but he is really good at flattery. Sometimes it’s nice to feel beautiful and desirable. So what if I let him flirt for a week and then leave with a smile on my face. He’ll move on just fine. Besides, I had a tiny bit of a crush on him when we were little and watching him fall over himself now is awesome!”

“You’re a player,” I accuse and she laughs.

“Don’t sound so offended, Katniss. We can’t all meet the love of our life when we’re five years old. And if you must know--” she continues before I can even form a response to that love my life comment “--I also didn’t tell you about the transfer to CSU because I didn’t want all that worrying you’d do to get in the way of you achieving your dreams.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Olympics, duh,” Prim taunts. “You’ve spent the past eight years focused on getting here. You’ve wanted to go since we were kids, really. You and Peeta both. Now look at you. You’re going! If I’d told you about my transfer, it might’ve made you lose focus or rethink everything or triggered a slump. I planned on telling you after the games. I mean, it’d be hard to keep from you once the graduation announcements came in, right?”

Prim smiles smugly at me and then her face falls. “I didn’t trigger it anyways, did I?”

I could torment her, let her think that she’s what sent me spiraling downwards, but now she’s looking as worried as she claims I usually feel. I can’t bring myself to draw it out more than a few seconds.

“No, you didn’t cause my slump,” I say.

“Oh thank goodness,” she says and then she’s hugging me again. I return it, even though I want to throttle her.

“I guess we both need to work on this talking to each other thing,” I say and she nods against my shoulder.

“You can start. Tell me about Peeta.”

“You aren’t gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” she says and releases me, resettling on the couch with big doe eyes and lashes batting.

“I hate you,” I grouse but I stutter out a few of my lesser fears in regards to my relationship with Peeta.

“I don’t think you realize how much you mean to him,” Prim says when I fall silent and the TV flashes bright for a second, still on mute. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, heard the way he speaks to you, watched the two of you leaning into each other today like you’re magnets or something. And whoa! That kiss!” She fans herself and I duck my head to hide the blush spreading across my cheeks. “Yeah, you guys have a messy history, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have an amazing future. Give it a chance to breathe.”

“I guess,” I mutter, but I have no idea what she means by that last comment.

“On that note, I’m going to sleep. We can dish more tomorrow.” She stands and stretches before locking herself in her bedroom. I stare mindlessly at the TV screen for awhile and eventually turn it off in favor of my bed.

But I don’t sleep long. Somewhere in the middle of the night, they return. The dreams I had during those frustrating weeks before I came here the first time. Skiing over a sea of faceless people. The waves buck and roll beneath me while I struggle to keep my balance. Eventually I loose it, and the sea swallows me, turns to an impenetrable fog. Getting lost in the fog and yelling without sound. And then, I fall off the cliff again, only this time, I’m alone.

I wake with a start and flick on the light. The cliff has never been part of this dream before. I’m scared for a moment that this means I’ll hit another slump and I don’t know why. I wish Peeta were here to hold me right now.

As soon as I think it, my hands search for my phone. He’s probably asleep and I hate to bother him, but I type out the message and hope that any notification he gets will be quiet enough not to wake him.

**_Sometimes, I have nightmares_ **

I scoff at myself and toss aside the phone, flip off the light, flop back and thrash around the bed trying to once more get comfortable. I’m still staring at the ceiling a few minutes later when my phone vibrates and the screen sends up a shaft of bright light.

So much for not disturbing him, I think as I pick up the phone.

_What are they about?_

**_If I had to guess, failing and letting everyone down._ **

_Do you wanna talk about it?_

**_Not really_ **

_Okay. How about a distraction?_

**_What did you have in mind?_ **

_That’s a dangerous question._

_I could try to come up with something funny, but not sure I’ll succeed at two in the morning._

**_Sorry_ **

_Don’t be._

_Or…_

_I could tell you that you have no idea the effect you can have or how quickly it works_

**_What does that mean?_ **

_It means that it took everything I had not to intrude on your time with your sister tonight and ask to stay with you._

_It means I miss the feel of you sleeping next to me and that’s based on sleeping beside you for just three nights._

_I miss the way you wrinkle your nose in your sleep and then sigh before you stop scowling. I like to think that’s the moment your dreams turn pleasant or resolve themselves_

**_How do you notice all these things?_ **

_I notice everything about you. Everything you’ll show me or tell me._

I don’t want him to stop. My skull tingles as though he’s whispering to me, and I crave more of his words. More of this certainty that nothing has faded between us. That I don’t have to be afraid.

**_Keep going_ **

_I miss holding you_

_I miss the taste of your mouth and the scent of your skin_

_I miss the moments right after I wake up when you’re still sleeping and I can just sit there and feel the shock and joy that you’re really there, in my arms and I can bring you just a little closer without you seeing how far gone I am for you._

_I wish we’d already had ten years worth of sleeping beside each other and holding each other and everything else, and I can barely stand the thought of missing out on another night I could be spending with you_

I read the words over and over, Prim’s love-of-my-life comment still in my head. I don’t know how to respond when Peeta says things like this.

 _I’m scaring you, aren’t I?_ He sends when I don’t answer right away.

**_A little_ **

_I’ll stop_

**_Don’t. That’s not what I mean._ **

**_Don’t stop_ **

He doesn’t answer at first and I worry that I’ve lost him to sleep or something else. I type out and delete a few messages and finally settle on:

**_Why didn’t you say these things when I was in Colorado?_ **

_Because I was trying not to push you or mess it up._

**_Really? After everything that happened here, you thought it’d be pushing me? Do you need an engraved invitation or something?_ **

_It might help. I just got my best friend back. And I guess part of me worried that once you left and returned to your life in Colorado, you’d regret everything that happened here or you’d move on to someone else._

I scoff at that last bit.

**_So what’s different now?_ **

_The way you kissed me today._

_That and it’s 2 am. My filters are shot._

I smile and search for a decent response, a way to tell him that I feel the same without sounding like a parrot or like I don’t mean it. To explain my fears. His words evoke deep seated emotions and make it impossible for me to ignore them, but I am so easily tongue tied when it comes to expressing them. He was always the one with the words while I’m just the girl who kissed his braces because she couldn’t wait.

_What are you thinking?_

And then I know what I want to say.

**_Wondering which would be more awkward. Prim seeing you do the walk of shame or Gramps seeing me do it._ **

Three seconds after I send it, I start typing and so does he. Our responses come through almost at the same time.

**_Gramps_ **

_Gramps_

_Is that an invitation?_

**_I forgot my engraving tools_ **

_Then I’ll see you in the morning_

**_Get your ass down here. Now._ **

He doesn’t answer, so I sneak to the door and press my ear to it, listening for signs of movement out in the hallway. When I think I hear footsteps, I crack the door open to peer through it, opening it wide when I see Peeta.

“Hello again,” he whispers as I hold the door open and our fingers lace together. His lips press to mine in a sweet kiss and then I pull him into the room. Deeper through the darkness into my bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed to take care of his prosthesis while I get settled. He joins me and we lay there in silence. Then the awkward shifting begins -- an arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle, a head repositioned, a hand that strays. The mechanics of sharing a bed still unfamiliar to us.

But when I wake feeling refreshed, with his fingers tracing over my shoulder and neck, his lips and teeth nibbling at my ear, his body wrapped around mine in a cocoon of comfort and warmth, it’s clear that the mechanics are just details. The feelings are what matters. And this feels right.

Peeta’s fingers trail down my arm and I hum my approval. Judging by the light slipping through cracks in the curtains, it’s close to sunrise.

“Took you long enough,” I say and his teeth tug on my ear.

“You weren’t complaining about the cuddling last night,” he whispers and I push my hips back into his.

“No, and I never will,” I say with a smile as his hand travels over my hip then up beneath my shirt to tease my navel. We’ve waited enough, I decide. I grab his hand and guide it towards my waistband. “Touch me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says and slides his hand beneath the layers of clothes to trace my folds. I bite my lip and roll my hips into his touch. He whispers to me while his fingers rouse me, chase away the last dregs of sleep, replacing them with soft kisses layered over short moans. It’s a gentle wave of awareness that starts where his lips touch me and rolls down my body, all the way to my toes until they curl into the sheets.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs, his voice still throaty with sleep, or maybe desire. His finger slips inside me, seeking out spots that make me buck in his arms and turn my head to stifle the sounds I make in the pillows. “To wake you with my lips and hands, feel you stir to life in my arms and grow wet around my fingers.” He withdraws his finger and I whimper into the cotton as he finds my clit and coats it with my own arousal. I have to bite down when he slides two fingers back in me, leaving his thumb to rub circles, and fuck it feels incredible. “Push you until you demand my cock, demand that I make you come. I love it when you take charge. When you can’t wait any longer and show me what you want.”

I love the feel of his words whispered against my ear, the promise of morning and so much more in his hands and voice. But his touches have done their job well. I’m writhing and aroused to the point of discomfort. His fingers aren’t enough anymore.

“Peeta,” I gasp and shove at my shorts and panties with his fingers still in me.

His hand leaves me and I almost yell, but his motions behind me tell me that he’s discarding his shorts, too. Sheathing himself with a condom. He lifts himself on one elbow to watch as I reach behind me and grip him. Together, we slide him into me. His fingers clench on my hip, and I can feel myself warm and sticky on them, now on me. As soon as his hips meet my cheeks, he groans and wraps himself around me again, his arm shaking and his breath labored against my neck. I worry that I’ve done something wrong.

“I was afraid this would never happen again after you left,” he whispers and my heart twists with regret and maybe a little anger that he didn’t believe me, although I can’t aim the anger at the right culprit when his hips shift, distracting me, and his cock strokes deep. Slow. Tentative. “Every day you answered the phone, every time you sounded happy to hear from me, every day you listened eagerly, opened up willingly to me, it made me believe a little more.”

His hand caresses over my body. I can feel his love in the touch. He pauses at my hip and grabs hold, his movements gaining strength and surety with his words.

“Katniss, oh. Sometimes I felt so foolish for believing this could be real. That we still had a chance.”

His words trail into a deep moan and a few desperate pants on the back of my scalp. I cling to the sheets in front of me and mirror his movements, pushing myself back onto him again and again as we banish the night, the doubts, together.

“Then you’d call and I’d hope again.”

Because even though we made promises to one another when I left, promises mean nothing without the actions to back them up, the proof that our vows are more than sweet, empty words.

I gasp out a few encouragements and his teeth scrape down the side of my neck. “Oh fuck, this feels almost too good to be real.”

“It’s real,” I whimper and reach behind me to tangle my fingers in his hair. His left leg wraps around both of mine, pulling us closer together, our skin pressed together, sticking until we feel inseparable. He lets go of my hip and grabs my other hand, tangling our fingers together with the sheets. We manage a few words, breathed out in pleas for deeper, for a kiss, for everything.

Coherence dissolves as we move faster and I yank on his hair and choke back the sounds I make as I feel myself draw closer. So close.

“Fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” Peeta chants breathlessly. “Gonna come. Katniss, _please_?”

I pull our joined hands down and his fingers fumble for a second before matching the rhythm of our hips on my clit. I feel the first real flutter of release in my core. His groan vibrates through me, to the depths of my being as his hips push him deep and he holds himself there, his fingers still in motion. I float on the feelings for a second and then follow him.

“Yes,” I turn the word into about six syllables coinciding with each pulse of my walls around him, smiling in relief as all the tension of separation falls away in one bone-tingling deep orgasm..

We just lay there after. Breathing, feeling the closeness of our bodies and our hearts pounding in our chests. Peeta’s words weave through my memory, etching themselves over old words that sometimes still hurt when I’m doubting myself, but when I turn my head enough to look at him, all I see in his eyes is deep blue and love. I squirm a little, feeling as though I haven’t reciprocated enough. He’s said so many beautiful things to me and all I can do is kiss him and hope he understands.

“Say something,” he whispers when our lips part. “Anything.”

We should say something after sex like that, shouldn’t we? But I can’t seem to find the words that convey what I felt.

“I missed you too, Peeta,” is all I seem capable of stringing together. It feels inadequate, but Peeta smiles, resting his forehead in the curve of my nose and brow. I lick my lips and find more words. They trip out, awkward and confusing. “This wasn’t a booty call, by the way.”

“What?” he says, his body shaking a little with laughter. I cringe at how bad that sounded and rush to correct myself.

“I’d rather not have to text you at two in the morning to get you here.”

“No one likes their sleep interrupted,” he agrees and I nod.

“So it’d be much easier if you just fall asleep here to start with. In case I need you for cuddling.”

“Or to fuck you senseless?” he whispers in a low tone that sends frissons dancing through my limbs.

“Who says I’m senseless right now?”

I try to sound cool but I know I fail and he grins before shifting us so that I’m laying sprawled on top of him. He brings me down for a long kiss and I forget what we were talking about. He pulls slowly on my hair to lift me off his mouth. His teeth catch my bottom lip and stretch it out as desire screams back to life inside me before he releases and I moan.

“What about now?” he asks and I laugh nervously.

Twice before breakfast seems absurd, though. And I did promise Prim not to ditch her too much. Peeta seems to remember this as I wriggle out of his grasp and he lets me go to waddle into the bathroom to start a shower and face the day. But when I turn back to look at him, the sheets rumpled around him, his smile bright and his hair a mess, I decide I really like the way he looks in my bed, all sexed up and relaxed, with love in his eyes.

The days flow smooth and easy after that. They linger and drag, but when they’re over they leave me with the sense that they are fleeting and flying out of my grasp too quickly, in the way that only summer days can do.

Prim and I hike familiar trails or picnic in the meadow our parents used to take us to. Sometimes Peeta or Ryen will go with us. Ryen continues to flirt with Prim, but I can see her restraint in returning it now that we’ve talked. We venture into town to shop and walk, to reminisce and heal. It’s...nice. I realize I haven’t spent time with Prim like this in a long time. She used to be the most important person in my life, but somewhere along the way, I lost track of who she’s become.

I pay more attention when she talks about her classes and her aspirations. Her reasons for working so hard at her internship, attempts to ensure some kind of job in her chosen field when she finally graduates. I let her dress me up, talk me into a few clothing purchases I’d otherwise never make — “for Peeta,” she claims — and I roll my eyes when he scans over me with a poorly hidden smirk. He knows these cute sundresses and short skirts are not me, but we both suffer through it to keep Prim happy. Besides, dresses turn out to be handy for certain things.

Haymitch texts every now and then to remind me not to slack off completely. Prim thankfully understands and plays coach while we workout here and there. She times us while Peeta and I swim laps. She offers helpful critiques rather than Haymitch’s sarcasm while we’re in the weight room. She joins us on the treadmills and sometimes drags Ryen along too, although he claims he doesn’t need constant training. “I’m just that good.”

In the evenings, Gramps, Peeta, and Ryen join us for dinner. I get a taste for what our lives could have been like if I hadn’t felt hurt and rejected by the entire family just because of one person’s cruelty. Comparing this to our time with the Hendersons, I begin to accept Prim’s fury with me. If we’d stayed, just a little longer, then things could have been so different.

But then, I think...Prim and I wouldn’t have had those years in New Mexico and then Colorado with Haymitch. It confuses me a little.

Wherever we go, Peeta and I are somehow always touching. Holding hands, rubbing backs, a brush of fingers over a cheek or shoulder. The squeeze of hand on thigh beneath the dinner table. A constant reassurance in each other’s presence.

Every night, Peeta joins me in my bed. Sometimes we talk quietly until there are more yawns than words. Sometimes we hold each other and sleep, nothing more. Other times we don’t need words. Just hands and mouths and moans. Our bodies do the talking on those nights.

Even still, I become freer with my words, whispering demands in the night and wishes in the dark that I might not be brave enough to otherwise utter. I grow comfortable with how much I want him in my life. I don’t allow myself to think about the details.

Prim spends an evening playing chess with Gramps and indulging in cheesecake while Peeta takes me for a greasy burger dinner and then to the art center for our date. Another afternoon, Prim announces that she has a spa treatment booked and she neglected to include me in that booking because she knows how I feel about having my skin covered in mud and my hair forcibly plucked.

“I hope you can fill the hours,” she says as she leaves the room after tucking a change of clothes, her swimsuit, a book, a hairbrush, and her flip flops into a bag. I change into one of those convenient dresses and steal Peeta away from The Locker. He drives us into the backcountry areas of the resort and I kick my bare feet out the window. Eventually, we park near a stream and sit on the bank, dipping our toes in the water. At one point, Peeta shifts and lays with his head in my lap.

“You know what we didn’t do while you were here training?” I hum a note to say that I don’t. I’m too warm and relaxed to think about it too much, my fingers playing with his hair. “We didn’t hike up in here.”

That’s because these backtrails are more rugged. They’re day long treks if you’re quick, even on skis, and usually require carrying heavy supply packs. I suppose I could have done that instead of toting my rifle, but I was also alone at the start. No one would have known where I went or to come looking for me if I got hurt or lost. Still, Peeta and I used to ski these trails with family all the time. In summers, I’d hike them with my parents. Sometimes, we’d camp and make it a two day trek.

“We should do that this winter. I think we’ve both got a long break in December,” I say.

“Really?” Peeta asks and I glance down at him. “You’d want to?”

“Well, yeah,” I say. And then it occurs to me what I just did. Made plans with him for something months away. I guess I did that with the New Zealand trip, but this somehow feels different. More significant. A promise to come back here again. Somehow, I keep getting drawn to this place, or maybe to him. I curl over and press my lips to his before I can think about it too much.

Shortly after, we climb back into his Jeep and head back towards the lodge. Only we’re stopped before we’ve gone a quarter of a mile by a moose and her calf. They’re blocking the road and grazing on the grasses growing up between the tire ruts.

“You know, I always thought Ryen was making it up when he told Gramps this was why he was late bringing Sarah Parker home one night,” Peeta says as we sit with the engine idling, waiting for them to move on.

“No way,” I say and Peeta laughs. The moose lifts her head and watches us for a moment. Then she returns to grazing.

“Yeah. Okay, I believed the moose part, not the rest of what he claimed happened.”

“I’m gonna take a picture and send it to Prim,” I suggest, not even remotely interested in the rest of Ryen’s escapades. “We’re close to being late for dinner.” I take the picture, but I’m not getting signal.

“Hold on, I think if we back up to that service shoot off I can get you at least one bar.” Peeta backs us up the road and down an even more secluded one, but there’s a break in the trees and that seems to do the trick.

“So what are we going to do while we wait?” I ask as I set my phone aside. He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel and contemplates me. I’m the first one to move, but he jumps right in as soon as I do. His hand slides up my skirt to pull me onto him and my knee connects with the gear shift.

“Ow.”

“Fuck, hold on,” he says as he yanks on the parking brake and kills the engine while I kiss his neck and grind on him. He moves the stick as far from us as possible and then pulls my lips up to his.

Neither of us says it, but we both know that in a way, we’re not just catching up for the past few months apart. We are still making up for everything we missed out on because of what happened ten years ago.

Making out eventually leads to making love, and I can’t stop the thought while I hold onto his shoulders and squeeze my eyes shut to live in the sensations as I shatter in his arms. _It should have been you. It always should have been you._ And now that I know, I don’t plan on letting him go.

When we’re finished, Peeta combs back my wild, sweaty hair and smiles up at me. “Does this count as both car sex and ‘we almost died sex?’ Moose can be aggressive, after all.”

I laugh and we put ourselves back together. When we drive down the hill, they’re still not gone.

“There’s a joke about speed in here somewhere,” I tease and Peeta’s post-orgasm blush deepens. He knows it’s not a complaint because it was my embarrassingly loud release that triggered his.

The moose is just off to the side on the road, though, her calf now in the trees. Peeta drives half off the road, branches scraping my window as we squeeze by and the moose bellows at us for disturbing her. Peeta swears and gears grind as he tries to shift. I turn in my seat to make sure she’s not chasing us and he sends the Jeep speeding down the mountain, unscathed.

At dinner that night, our close encounter with the moose is the featured highlight. Prim is radiant with a flush on her cheeks and a happy smile. I’m so glad to see her this happy, this relaxed that I don’t comment on how Ryen can’t seem to take his eyes off of her.

At one point, Ryen calls Graham to resurrect his moose call that he perfected to torment Ryen after his own supposed brush with a moose. Prim spends a moment chatting with Graham on the phone and by the end of the night, my sides hurt with laughter. My hand never leaves it’s place inside Peeta’s hold.

But even though I don’t want to, I know that eventually, I _do_ have to let go. At least for a little while.

It’s on our last full day in Wyoming that Prim and I find the courage to visit our parents’ burial site. We walk among the manicured gravesites to one that sits slightly apart. They were cremated and their ashes buried in the cemetery, the earth rounded over their graves to form small mounds covered in stones rather than flattening them. A tribute to two contradictory heritages.

Someone planted flowers by their markers. Lilies and sage brush. The thought that someone else did this, took the time to honor our parents while it took us ten years to return home is both soothing and a knife to the heart. We should have come sooner, but it is clear that my parents touched more lives than just ours.

Prim picks up a few wet leaves and tosses them aside before sinking to the ground and curling up, her shoulder leaning against our mother’s tombstone. She pulls me down next to her and then she starts talking.

“Hi Mom and Dad. It’s me, Primrose.” She speaks for a long time, as though they can hear her. She tells them all about her life and why it took us so long to come visit them. There’s no reproach in her voice when she tells them about my mistakes. Not even when she tells them about our awful time with the Hendersons.

The closest she gets is when she tells our mother, “I can see why you never really talked to your sister anymore.”

We have no way of knowing for sure what caused the rift. Although Haymitch once hinted it had something to do with our dad, he also admitted that he only had one side of the story and drew assumptions from that.

“Katniss is going to the Olympics in February,” Prim says finally and nudges me to get me to speak. “You’d both be so proud of her.”

I can’t seem to find the words, other than to tell them where the games will be held, and that I miss them both. So much.

That night, Peeta holds me in bed and we stare out the window, the curtains left open even though it’s too dark to really see anything.

“Just under two months,” he murmurs and I nod.

“You planted the flowers,” I say. It’s not a question. Somehow, I know it was him.

“Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect,” I say as a tear makes it out of my eye and down my cheek. “I couldn’t… Prim talked to them today, told them all about her life. I couldn’t do it.”

His fingers trace over my ear and he presses a kiss to my neck before he scoots closer to me. “Well, that just means you’ll have to come back for another visit when you’re ready.”

Or move back here, I think. I don’t say the words. Instead I nod and then roll over in Peeta’s arms to kiss him. We don’t really speak after that. Just like every time we dance together, sometimes the movement of our bodies is the best language we share.

In the morning, Ryen is there to help us load my car. Prim lingers with her hands held in Gramps’ and tears welling up in her eyes as she nods at whatever he says to her. Peeta seems to be keeping himself apart from me until I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him.

“I thought...I thought maybe I could come visit you sometime in the next month,” he murmurs and I nod, my nose bumping into his shoulder.

“Start planning how you’re going to beg for that third date,” I say and he laughs. All I get is a chaste kiss on the lips in farewell, but I guess our real farewell was said in the night.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says and I nod, unable to answer as I climb in the car.

Prim and I return to our jobs and our lives in Colorado. I was right about the trip helping mend our relationship. We spend an afternoon we both have off at her school so she can show me around. She invites friends over for movie nights, and although I don’t spend the entire time with them, it’s nice to be welcomed into more of her life. Good to see the proof that she’s living and not just working.

I spend my days working or training with Haymitch. He’s taking it easier on me right now, and I wonder if Prim told him to back off. When I mention it, he shrugs.

“Figured you’ve dealt with a lot recently. Don’t need me harping on one more thing.”

“I thought you wanted a medal in February,” I taunt and his sly smile is the only warning I get before he mentions that my arms look like limp tortilla strips and the cursing resumes. After that, he raids our pantry with Prim and cleanses it of anything resembling junk food. Whenever we manage to eat dinner as a family, Haymitch cooks himself and Prim mounds of greasy junk food and me something annoyingly healthy.

One weekend passes and then another, and while we’re still talking every day, I can tell that Peeta is getting frustrated. Every time he sets plans to come see me in Colorado, something comes up with the lodge, or with his business, and then one night, something far worse.

My pulse skips when I see his face on my phone screen and I answer feeling deliciously happy.

“Peeta?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything right away. I can hear shouting in the background and then he takes a shuddering breath.

“Gramps had a heart attack. A minor one, but um…”

My stomach drops like a rock and fear kicks me in the teeth.

“Is he… is he gonna be okay?”

“Doctors say he should recover just fine. It’s just… Katniss, I …”

“Do you want me to come up there?” I ask and have to wait while a page for Dr Hughes makes conversation difficult.

“No, it’s fine. Really. The doctors said he’ll recover with no problem. There’s no reason for you to go to the trouble. I just… Katniss, I don’t know if I’m gonna make it down there to visit.”

“This is more important,” I say and swallow both my fear and my disappointment. “He’s your family. He needs you right now.”

“Sometimes it feels like we’re the only family the other has got left. Ryen and Graham rarely come home. I didn’t even know Ryen was gonna be here until he showed up the same day as you. Dad never does, and there’s only so much I can do about visiting them,” Peeta says and my gaze flicks across the living room to where Prim sits on the couch, painting her toes. Haymitch skimming through channels on mute, a plate of cheese covered something perched on his belly and a soda in his hand. What would I do if Haymitch had a heart attack?

“I know, Peeta. I understand. Can I call later and talk to him?”

“Yeah, of course you can.”

“And are you okay?” I ask gently.

“I don’t...know. Seeing him like that, in that much pain… I didn’t know what to do at first.”

Eirik may not have fallen off a cliff or lost a limb, but I can understand the fear Peeta would have felt in those moments. In the silence that follows his words, I relive it for a second. The panic when someone you love is in danger. Then the guilt that rises up in the aftermath. But that is not what Peeta needs right now. He needs what my mother once did for me.

“You were with him though, right?” Peeta makes a strange sound of affirmation. “And you got him to the hospital. So you did what you needed to. You did what you could.”

“Still scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah,” I say and we sit there listening to the bustle of the hospital for a moment. “How long do they think he’ll need for recovery?”

“He can go home in a couple days. They said he should take it easy for at least a month or two, probably longer.”

“Will he be well enough for you to go to New Zealand?” I ask, although I feel kind of like a jerk for doing so until Peeta chuckles, the sound dry.

“Are you kidding? It doesn’t matter if he is or not. Pretty sure he’ll kidnap me, toss me in the luggage compartment, and fly the plane himself if I try to back out now. Actually, that might be something he said to me in the car on the way to hospital. It’s a little hazy in my head. Something about me not using a tiny thing like a heart attack as an excuse.” I laugh at the image, and he manages more of a real laugh. “I already talked to Graham and Savannah. Gramps tore the phone out of my hand and tried to tell them he’d be fine if I left. Thankfully they didn’t buy it. They’re supposed to come up with the kids to help out while I’m gone.”

“Well that’s good. Tell Gramps that Haymitch rented an apartment for you, me, him, and Chaff, starting about two weeks before so you can adjust to the time zone and get a chance to train on real snow again. We could back out of the lease, but...”

“You really think I’m gonna tell him that and give him more ammunition to get me on that plane?”

“I’ll tell him if you don’t.” I motion for Prim and she joins me, her eyes widening when I mouth to her what’s happened. Haymitch sees and joins us as well, resting his hands on Prim’s shoulders.

“This is too much,” Peeta protests and Prim wraps her arms around me. I’m glad for both of their presence as I put Peeta on speaker phone. “You’ve got your own season to prep for, Katniss. I can’t ask you to give up close to a month of time for me. Especially not with Gramps laid up like this. We’re already booked solid for the solar eclipse and Graham will help but if I’m not here—“

“Stop protesting and just accept it, Peeta. The plans are set. You can’t expect to back out of a non-refundable international flight, can you?” Prim says. There’s a moment of quiet.

“You brought Prim into this?”

“Resistance is now futile,” I tell him and smile at Prim. Between her and Gramps, there’s no room for Peeta to argue.

“You and Gramps both had to know about the eclipse and he wanted you to go anyways,” Prim reminds Peeta.

“Tell Gramps we love him, and to get better soon,” I try to soften her words.

“He owes me a chess rematch,” Haymitch adds and Peeta makes a noise of resignation.

“I’ll tell him. And Katniss…” I can tell the way he says it that he’s about to say something Prim and Haymitch don’t need to hear so I take the phone off speaker and retreat to the privacy of my room.

“Yes?”

“I promise I’ll make it worth all the trouble you’re going through,” he says. Thoughts of mornings and nights in Peeta’s arms, of finding creative ways to help him relax fill my head.

“It’s no trouble,” I tell him. “But I’ll let you make it up to me anyways.”

“And now I’m having inappropriate thoughts in a hospital,” Peeta mutters and I laugh. “My grandfather just had a heart attack. This is so wrong.”

“You started it.”

“That comment was completely innocent. You turned it dirty with that tone of voice.”

“What tone?” I tease and he groans.

“I gotta get back to Gramps before this becomes a real problem. God I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. I’ll see you in Los Angeles,” I say.

“Until then,” Peeta says.

Prim and I get a few chances to talk with Gramps before he’s released from the hospital, again when he’s back home. He’s adamant that Peeta compete as though there’s nothing going on at home. He insists that he will be fine and everyone needs to stop making a fuss over him. It was just a minor heart attack, he says. I can tell the idea of leaving Gramps still bothers Peeta, though.

But two weeks later, I wake at the crack of dawn, full of nerves, and text Peeta to see how he’s doing.

**_Good morning. Got anything exciting planned for the day? ;-)_ **

I glance at my suitcase in the corner while I wait for him to answer. My skis are already in their case, ready to travel once more. It was strange packing my heavy coat and snow pants in the middle of August when I’m still wearing shorts and t-shirts.

_On our way to the airport. Graham says “Hi.”_

**_Hi, Graham_ **

_Aren’t you up a little early?_

**_Couldn’t sleep. Save me a seat?_ **

_Nah. I’m thinking you’re probably a leg room hogger. I wanna be seat buddies with Haymitch._

**_Haymitch won’t cuddle with you for naps or do the things to you that I wanna do to you_ **

_I can live without leg room_

I smile and decide that since I’m up, I might as well get going. Peeta’s got two flights just to get to LAX versus my one, so I don’t have to be at the airport until after lunch. I take my time showering, double check my phone account to make sure the international plan is in effect again, take a nap, have lunch with Prim, and then haul my stuff down to the curb to wait for Haymitch.

Our flight is uneventful, and the sun still shines as we make our way through LAX to our gate. Peeta and Chaff are already there. They’ve claimed a table and have several containers of food spread out. Peeta spots us first, his smile bright as the sun outside despite the circles under his eyes as he stands to greet us. I basically run the last few steps and throw myself into his embrace. He has to step one foot back to keep his balance.

“I’m gonna hope you’re Katniss,” Chaff says and Haymitch grunts behind me.

“If she weren’t, pretty sure she’d be a dead girl,” Haymitch says and I scowl as Peeta releases me enough for us to join the introductions.

“Chaff, this is Haymitch Abernathy,” Peeta says.

“Chaff Montgomery. Good to meet ya.” It’s only when he extends his left hand to shake that I notice his right is a prosthetic. Haymitch follows Chaff’s lead and I follow suit when it’s my turn.

“Katniss Everdeen,” I confirm. Chaff grins as we shake.

“Nice to finally meet the girl I’ve heard all about.” His comment makes me blush and glance up at Peeta, who’s blushing too.

“Now that’s out of the way. What have we got for food, Cupcake?” Haymitch asks as he settles at the table. I’m not sure what happens, but Haymitch and Chaff fall easily into conversation and appear for all intents and purposes to be old friends by the time they call for us to board our flight.

As the jets ramp up, I tuck a few things into the seat pocket in front of me for the flight. A book, my iPod, bottle of water, and a hand cream. Peeta stares out the window, bouncing his left foot, his face perfectly calm.

“Hey,” I whisper and place a hand on his thigh to stop the bouncing.

“Sorry. Just...worried about Gramps. And maybe a little nervous.”

“It’ll be okay,” I try to reassure him and lean over to kiss him. It’s a chaste touch, but I still hear Haymitch making a disgruntled noise from the seat behind me.

“This is gonna be a long ass flight if you two aren’t gonna be able to control yourselves,” he says as I turn to glare at him through the gap in the seats.

“Then take a nap, Old Man,” I suggest. He and Chaff both laugh, but Haymitch leans his head back against his seat and closes his eyes.

“Here, let me see your phone,” I say and Peeta hands it over without question. I open the camera and wriggle so that we’re both visible in the frame. “Say ‘ost.’”

Peeta smiles and I snap the picture, send it to Gramps. The plane jolts and we back away from the gate. I retrieve my iPod from the seat pocket and show it to Peeta. “Nerves I can help with.”

He takes the left earbud as I take the right. Once the music starts, he lifts the arm rest between us so I can curl into his side, rest my head on his shoulder as we stare out the window and watch the world fall away as we take off. When we’re over the ocean, Peeta turns his head to kiss my hair and whispers to me.

“You somehow knew exactly what I needed.” I smile and snuggle closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:  
> Okay, lots of information to share. To start with, some info on the para snowboarding classifications. Direct quote from Source: https://www.paralympic.org/snowboard/classification  
> "  
> Classification provides a structure for competition. Athletes competing in Paralympic sports have an impairment that leads to a competitive disadvantage in sport. Consequently, a system has to be put in place to minimise the impact of impairments on sport performance and to ensure the success of an athlete is determined by skill, fitness, power, endurance, tactical ability and mental focus, much like able-bodied sports. This system is called classification.  
> Classification determines who is eligible to compete in a Paralympic sport and it groups the eligible athletes in sport classes according to their activity limitation in a certain sport.  
> Impairments types currently covered within snowboard are impaired muscle power, impaired range of motion, limb deficiency, ataxia, leg-length difference, hypertonia and athetosis.  
> Sport class SB-LL1:  
> Athletes classified in the SB-LL1 sport class will have an significant impairment in one leg, for example an above knee amputation, or a significant combined impairment in two legs, for example significant muscle weakness or spasticity in both legs. This will affect their ability to balance, control the board and absorb the terrain. Athletes with amputations will use prosthesis during the races.  
> Sport class SB-LL2:  
> Snowboarders in the SB-LL2 sport class will have an impairment in one or two legs with less activity limitation. A typical example is a below knee amputation or mild spasticity.  
> Sport Class SB-UL:  
> Snowboarders in the SB-UL class have impairments of the upper limbs, which impacts on the ability to balance when racing down the slopes.  
> "  
> ***** End Quote *****
> 
> Essentially, para snowboarding divides athletes into classifications to level the field. This way, athletes are competing against other athletes whose disability affects their skills in the same manner. For example, an impairment of the upper limbs affects balance on a snowboard whereas an impairment of the lower limbs affects the ability to steer the board and respond to terrain.  
> Since Peeta had an above the knee amputation, he would automatically be placed in the LL1 class.  
> Beetee’s character here is inspired by a combination of his own canon personality and that of Paralympian Mike Schulz, who races for Team USA and won silver in Korea in one of the two para snowboarding events. He also is the founder of BioDapt Inc. https://www.biodaptinc.com/ They design and make prostheses for...you guessed it! sports where your legs take impacts that you would need to respond to (snowboarding, motocross, wakeboarding, skiing, snowmobile, are the main examples). Most notable about his designs are that they basically have shocks, similar to what you’d find on a car only smaller, built into them. And they are adjustable in several ways, so the athlete can change the setup for different environmental conditions or even different events. Also, all of the paralympic snowboarders for Team USA in LL classes this year were using his prosthetics when they raced.


	18. A Kick Flip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so in going back through my notes and re-reading chapters, I found a boneheaded editing mistake. Some of you might not even notice it because it's such a tiny detail. I already went back and changed the earlier chapters because it was gonna bother me, so when someone mentions Salt Lake City, Utah in this chapter instead of Vale, Colorado...go easy on me.
> 
> Also...go easy on Peeta.
> 
> NEW WARNINGS: Mentions of drug use and underage drinking (underage for the US and does marijuana really count as drug usage anymore??? whatever, you've been warned)

_His eyelids stick to his eyeballs as he slowly wakes, uncertain what noise disturbed him. His mouth is a little dry, but otherwise he doesn’t feel hungover. The bed shifts beside him, a sleepy moan catching his attention, and he peels open one eye. He’s greeted by a face full of brown hair and pale shoulders._

_Damn. He wasn’t supposed to stay the night. She doesn't want him staying overnight.  
_

_He’s calculating the odds of sneaking out without waking her when he hears the muffled chiming of his phone, alerting him of a text. Slowly, so as to not disturb her, Peeta rolls over and searches the floor for his jeans with one hand while he rubs the rest of the sleep from his eyes with the other. When he finds them, he pulls them up onto the bed and digs his phone out of the pocket. Where is his underwear? he wonders before he squints to bring the screen into focus. He’s got several texts in a group chat from Finnick._

**_I’m hoping you left with Clove._ **

**_Seriously, dude. Where the fuck are you?_ **

_They’re from last night, along with some from Darius._

**We’ve got a pool going on whether you’re passed out or balls deep. My bet’s on passed out.**

**I could use some text book money, so ya know help a guy out here?**

_More from Finnick this morning:_

**_You’re not dead, are u?_ **

_Darius again:_

**I get your board if you are. Dibs!**

_He notices the time then._

_“Shit.” The curse slips out and he sits up to reattach his leg. Behind him, Clove hums and stretches._

_“Something wrong?” she asks._

_“No,” he says and spots his underwear, kicked halfway beneath her bedside table. He gets it around his ankles and stands to pull them up, twisting around to face her. “I’m supposed to get my dorm packed up today. Running a little late is all. Didn’t mean to crash here. Sorry about that.”_

_“It’s fine. I still slept okay.”_

_She sits up and runs her hands through her hair, pulling it back in a messy bun while he finishes getting dressed. Her brown eyes roam over him the whole time and Peeta can feel his skin heating in a blush. He’s never stayed the night before and isn’t sure if this changes things between them._

_“So I’ll call you later? Maybe we could uh have dinner some—“ She laughs, cutting off his suggestion._

_“You know, one of the things I like best about you is that you’re a fast learner,” she says, reaching up to grab his collar. He obeys the implied command and bends over so his mouth is close to hers. She trails one sharp nail over his lips. He’s struck with vivid memories of last night, of her legs clamped around his head and those nails digging into his scalp. He doesn’t remind her that it took him almost the whole semester to learn_ that _part. How many times had he tried unsuccessfully before last night? He guesses all that matters is that she’s satisfied now._

_“Really fast,” she purrs. “Don’t ruin that now. Learn when to shut up.”_

_“Okay,” he says, still uncomfortable with what she means. Most of the time -- when he’s fully dressed and they’re not together -- he feels wrong with their causal arrangement._

_But that hasn’t stopped him from coming back for more, a vicious voice in his head reminds him. Even when he knows it’s a dumb decision or a self-destructive pattern._

_“Have a good summer, Peeta. If I see you in the fall, then I see you. If not, then this was fun.” Clove releases him then and wiggles back beneath her sheets, turns her back to him as she rests her head on her pillow. “Just don’t let Mr. Twitchy sneak out the door with you, alright?”_

_“Yeah, alright. I won’t.”_

_He grabs his phone and moves to her bedroom door, glancing back at her body making sinuous hills out of the sheets. He hesitates. Opens his mouth. Then shuts it._

_Ultimately, he always knew this was casual. “Meaningless fun,” she had called it the first time she climbed on top of him. He feels like he’s still learning the protocol for what “meaningless fun” entails. Peeta doesn’t have time to figure it all out right now, though, because he’s close to being late and it might not matter after today anyways._

_He finds her pet ferret in the living room and opens the door enough to let himself out, using one foot to block Mr. Twitchy from leaving too. As he’s rushing back to the dorms, he answers Finnick and Darius._

I’m alive. Hands off my board.

**_Was about to send out a search party._ **

No need. On my way back now.

**_Cutting it close there, Casanova_ **

_Peeta drops his phone in his pocket without answering. When he reaches the dorm, he slips through narrow gaps as people work to pack away and move out for the summer. He leaves the door to his room open and strips the sheets off his bed, hurries to get them started in the laundry, grateful that he appears to be the only overachiever washing stuff instead of packing it away still dirty. Back in his room, he checks the time and swears again. He has to make a choice. Shower or cleaning out the fridge._

_But as he stands still, the sting hits his nostrils. He smells like Clove’s incense. Shower it is._

_Once he’s clean and dressed in fresh clothes, he sets to work packing up his scattered belongings._

_“Yo! He lives!” Darius shouts through the open door._

_“When’s your dad get here?” Finnick asks as he saunters in next._

_“Half an hour maybe. Nothing like the last minute.”_

_Darius hums a funeral dirge and Peeta throws a wadded up ball of paper at him._

_“Whatdya need done still?” Finnick asks._

_“Uh, the fridge is a mess,” Peeta says. Finnick unplugs it and opens the door._

_“Darius, attack,” he says and Darius makes a noise of delight before yanking out food and muttering to himself that he can make a fucking feast out of Peeta’s leftovers. He turns a tub of sandwich meat over and squints at the expiration date while Peeta goes back to packing._

_“What day is it?”_

_“May 9th,” Finnick says and Darius shrugs, tucking the meat on top of his pile._

_“Close enough.” As soon as Darius disappears down the hall to the dorm kitchen, Finnick focuses on Peeta._

_“So, how was your night?”_

_“Not bad,” Peeta says with a shrug._

_“Not bad,” Finnick mocks. “Fine. Fine. Don’t bang and snitch, ya fucking gentleman.”_

_“Hey, it’s bad enough that you already know as much as you do,” Peeta says and Finnick feigns shock._

_“Not my fault you’re chatty when you’re high.”_

_“I just don’t need that grade to come under suspicion, alright? That’s the only decent one I earned this semester.”_

_“Shoulda thought about that before you nailed your TA,” Finnick taunts._

_“Wait, she was your TA?” Darius pokes his head back in the dorm. “She got friends?”_

_“Thought you were making breakfast?”_

_“It’s warming up.”_

_“I don’t have time for this.” Peeta huffs, suddenly annoyed as he pushes past his friends._

_“Where are you going now?”_

_“Moving my sheets to the dryer.”_

_“You washed your sheets? Aren’t you just packing them away for the summer?” Darius asks._

_“I grew up in a hotel. That will make you always wash the sheets,” Peeta tosses over his shoulder and Darius shudders while Finnick laughs._

_With the sheets in the dryer, his towels in the wash, and Darius dealing with the fridge, things move right along. Clean clothes get rolled up and shoved in his duffle bags. Dirty ones shoved into his mesh laundry hamper. He sprays some Febreeze in it to combat the smell of incense on last night’s clothes since he’s out of time for another load of laundry. They toss his books and school supplies into plastic totes. Non-perishable food into another tote. Posters are peeled off the walls, rolled up and secured with rubber bands. Peeta tucks his laptop into his bookbag._

_His dad turns out to be running late, too. San Diego traffic is a boon this time instead of a curse as Peeta actually manages to dry his linens all the way before folding them and packing them in their plastic tote. He scarfs down the breakfast Darius cobbled together for the three of them from his leftovers. When they’re done, the room is barren and depressing._

_Once his dad arrives, he and Peeta quickly load up the rented van and his Jeep. A quick farewell to his friends with promises to keep in touch over the summer. They head to the storage place and get to work filling it with Peeta’s things._

_“That the last of it?”_

_“Yeah,” Peeta tells his dad and reaches up to slide down the door on the storage unit. He wipes the sweat off his face with the hem of his t-shirt and checks the fastenings holding his board to the roof of the car while Bram affixes the lock. When he’s done, Bram motions towards Peeta’s Jeep._

_“How about some lunch before we hit the road?”_

_“Sure. Got a preference?”_

_“How about something with a view?”_

_“The coast is in the opposite direction from Wyoming,” Peeta reminds him and Bram shrugs._

_“I got nothing but time right now, son.”_

_Peeta ducks his head and climbs into his seat. They drop off the van and his dad joins him in the Jeep. The drive is quiet and he shifts periodically, waiting for the lecture he knows he’s got coming. He supposes he should be grateful that his dad didn’t lay into him the second he showed up at the dorms. Peeta asks about Ryen and Graham to delay the inevitable. And because the quiet judgement from his dad grates on his last reserves._

_“You should call them sometime. Hear it from them,” Bram says after giving Peeta the latest news, and the subtle chastisement is the last straw. Peeta pulls the Jeep off the road and turns to his dad._

_“Can we not dance around the issue for once?” Peeta asks and Bram stares at him. Impassive. Always impassive. Peeta wants to break the calm surface, just to know if his dad ever feels_ anything _other than apathy_.

_“What issue?”_

_“Me fucking up my grades!” Peeta shouts and Bram nods._

_“It’s only your second semester.”_

_He falls silent and after another minute, Peeta curses. Flings himself from the Jeep and moves to the nose. He leans back and stares out over the Pacific. The heat from the engine scorches through his clothes, but he doesn’t care anymore. He’s not sure he cares about anything at all._

_“I’m not sure what you expect from me, Peeta. Yelling at you won’t change grades that are already in the books,” his dad reminds him and Peeta nods. He feels the tension in his jaw. They stand there for awhile and still, the lecture doesn’t come. Instead, it’s the questions. With his dad, it’s always so many questions._

_“Are the classes too hard?”_

_“I don’t think that’s it.”_

_“Not enough time studying?”_

_“I’m sure I could spend more on it, but--”_

_“There’s gotta be a balance. I understand that. What about your friends?”_

_“They’re not the problem. I mean, they can be a distraction, but they’ve got their own classes they’re studying for too. So it’s not...excessive. I don’t think. They’re more helpful than harmful.”_

_“Maybe you’re taking too many classes.”_

_“I only took one more than the minimum I need to count as full time.”_

_“Did you try getting some help?”_

_“What like seeing a tutor?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Not really,” he admits. “I did first semester. Thought I’d be okay without the help this time.”_

_“That was clearly a mistake. Any classes you_ didn’t _struggle with this semester?”_

_Ouch. That’s harsh, Peeta thinks. Not at all like his dad. That’s how he knows just how upset his father is with him. How badly he fucked up._

_“English,” Peeta says and his dad nods. He’s never really had a problem with languages or literature for some reason. Even without his time with Clove, Peeta had an A in that one class. “I guess...I wanted to do it on my own this time.”_

_“Alright, well… What happened with the others?”_

_“I got a D on one test. And then a C in another class and then it...spiraled out of control before I realized what happened. Then there just...wasn’t enough time to fix it before the semester was over.”_

_“So what’s the problem? Drinking? Drugs? Partying? Sex?”_

_“Jesus, Dad.” Peeta shakes his head, his cheeks heating a little, embarrassed that his dad actually came out and asked straight up. He’s willing to bet Gramps put him up to that direct inquiry. Especially when he sees how red his dad’s face is. “No more than the next kid.”_

_“Then maybe you should try those out a little less than the next kid. What about Doctor Aurelius? You alright seeing him? We can always find someone else. There’s more to pick from here.”_

_“No, Dad. Dr. Aurelius is fine. I don’t have any problems with him.”_

_“What’s he say about all this?”_

_“He says a lot of things,” Peeta dances around the question and Bram sighs. Peeta has never liked talking with his dad — or anyone for that matter — about his therapy visits. He drags his right foot through the dirt and shifts his weight. Stares at the ankles of his pants. For a few minutes, he listens to the waves crashing and lets the sound relax him. Beat by beat until the silence grows between him and his father but no longer feels stifling._

_“Sometimes I come out here just to sit,” Peeta says and motions towards the beach they’ve stopped at. “Park right here and roll back the canvas. Hike down to the water’s edge. Works better up here, though.”_

_“What does?” his dad asks and stands beside Peeta, both of them leaning against the Jeep with their arms crossed._

_“The sound,” Peeta says, but he knows that’s not much of an explanation. “If I close my eyes, it’s not the same exactly, but it’s like home. Sort of. The way it crescendos and decrescendos then does it all over again. Like the wind through the trees in the mountains.”_

_It’s not the same sound at all, he knows. The waves crash and roar while the wind back home moans and whistles, each their own symphony, but the effect is close enough, especially at a distance. His dad still doesn’t comment, so Peeta continues._

_“And if I squint, the waves when the sun hits them just right look a little like snow on the hills.”_

_“So you’re homesick,” Bram says and Peeta shakes his head._

_“Not exactly. I don’t know, Dad. I do like it here most of the time. Sometimes it just gets to be...too much.” Sometimes he feels like the city is smothering him. Other times it feels like there’s a hole in his chest that he can’t staunch._

_“Thought we all agreed it’d be good for you to go somewhere else, get out of Wyoming. Like you used to.”_

Like he used to.

_Peeta scoffs at that. It’s not the same. Neither of them mentions Vancouver. It was over a year ago and at the time, Peeta thought he handled it pretty well. Going to support his brothers. Celebrating when Graham came home with the gold he’s always wanted, and Ryen with a silver and a bronze. Peeta’s loathe to blame his academic problems on that, but maybe his reaction to not going for himself was delayed. He suppressed it until there was nothing to do but fall._

_“We could send you to one of the schools back home. They’re smaller and not as glamorous but--”_

_“Maybe I’m just not meant for college,” Peeta mumbles. “I’m not…” He trails off because he knows his dad will wince if he says it._

I’m not smart _._

_Just finishing high school turned into a struggle. A myriad of tutors and extra help. A constant questioning of what was the root cause. Half a dozen therapists labelling him as depressed, ADD, dealing with anxiety, showing classic signs of a victim of mental and emotional abuse, mild PTSD. How about a cocktail of all of the above?_

_“Gramps still looking for a snowcat driver?”_

_Bram sighs again and hangs his head. “I was gonna wait to tell you this, but I suppose now’s as good a time as any. I’m moving to Salt Lake.”_

_“What?” Peeta turns his head sharply to look at his dad._

_“I know, not the best way to tell you--”_

_“Why? Why now?”_

_“Graham and Savannah are expecting a third kid. They could use some help. Ryen’s talking about moving there, too. Closer to a coach he wants to work with since he’s switching to freestyle now.”_

_“So Graham and Ryen need you more?” He can’t keep the bitter tone out of his voice._

_“It’s not about who needs me more,” Bram says. “I’ve got investors lined up to start my own place.”_

_Peeta jerks his gaze back to the ocean and tries not to feel betrayed. “What about Gramps and Skadi?”_

_“We both know that it’s been awkward these past few years. I’ve stayed past my welcome at Skadi.”_

_“Not with me,” Peeta says, the familiar guilt curdling in his stomach. The reminder that the slow disintegration of his family can all be traced back to him. His dad claps a hand on his shoulder._

_“You’ll be fine without me, Peeta. You were the reason I stayed for so long, but you’ve got a future here. I think you owe it to yourself to go after it. Eirik isn’t going to live forever. Eventually, that place will become too big for him to run by himself. So if you’re worried about Skadi so much, then maybe you ought to focus on fixing those grades. You said you came here to learn so you could help out more. Help guide the resort into the future. I didn’t want to do this, was gonna leave Eirik to decide, but I’m thinking maybe he was onto something.”_

_“Onto something?”_

_“You get one more semester. Turn your grades around in the fall or you go home. Work the slopes, teach a few classes, work in The Locker, earn your keep. Whatever Eirik needs you to do until you figure out what you really want.”_

_“And if I can fix my grades?”_

_“Then you finish what you started. There’s always a place for you at Skadi. You just have to decide what it’s gonna be.”_

_Peeta licks his lips and thinks for a few minutes before he nods. It’s more than he was expecting. Honestly, he half expected his dad to skip the storage unit all together and drive his ass straight back to Wyoming. He wasn’t expecting a second chance. “Sounds fair, I guess.”_

_“And just get the help you need. There’s no shame in asking for help if you need it, Peeta. Not for any of us.”_

_Peeta can’t get words passed his lips so he gives his dad a brusque nod in place of a promise._

_“Good. Let’s get that lunch now.”_

* * *

 

Thirteen hours.

I have thirteen. Miserable. Hours. On this plane.

At first, it isn’t so bad. Peeta and I have the entire row to ourselves. Extra seats gives a little more room to stretch out. All of us are tired from an already long day of travel and I easily fall asleep with Peeta’s chest as my pillow, warm and cozy and soothed by the feel of his exhales caressing over my scalp, his hand up and down my arm, music playing in one ear and his heart drumming steadily in the other.

When I wake up to a dimly lit plane with our earbuds dangling over the blanket, forgotten, and the only noise that of the jets and the roar of the wind outside, an undeniable hunger stretches awake in my heart. I haven’t seen Peeta or touched him for over a month until today. Granted we’ve been a little more open with our desires during this last separation, but there’s no substitute for the feel of his bare skin on mine. For his arms around me and the way it feels when we’re joined. I watch him for a moment or two, leaning against the bulkhead, his lips parted slightly in sleep, face calm and relaxed. And then, I can’t resist.

Hidden beneath the blanket, I slip my hand beneath Peeta’s shirt, flat against his abs, just to feel his heat. My fingers curl into his muscles and he takes a deep breath in his sleep. Once I start, I’m not able to stop. Gentle caresses and soft scrapes of my nails that slowly rouse him. When he opens his eyes to find me already watching him, I worry for a moment that he might find it creepy. Or maybe he won’t be interested with everything he’s got on his mind. Until he blinks and his arms pull me closer.

So I keep going. I guess he could use the distraction from his worries. I let my hands wander freely beneath his shirt while he watches me. His quickening breath and the gradual deepening of the blue in his eyes provide my only hints as to what effect I am having. Then he leans over and whispers, his voice gravelled with sleep and delicious with arousal.

“Now that you’ve got my attention, what are you planning to do with it?”

Eyes locked on his, I smile and let my hand trail down his torso, flick my nails over one nipple then keep going. Down his belly, feeling his muscles twitch beneath my touch, over his jeans and landing on the hard bulge forming beneath. I splay my fingers to cover as much of him as I can and I barely hear the noise he makes in his throat.

That’s when the first kick from Haymitch happens. Square to the back of Peeta’s seat, startling us both. When I lift myself off Peeta’s chest and turn around to look at him, Haymitch shrugs and gives us a half assed apology. I hadn’t even realized he’d woken up, and I’m annoyed with the interruption.

I’m not the only frustrated one on this plane either. Once Haymitch closes his eyes again and appears to be nodding off to sleep, Peeta’s fingers venture beneath my shirt, eliciting shivers with the way his fingers skate delicately up and down my spine, over my ribs. Down to just inside the waist of my jeans, skimming from one hip to the other, up beneath my bra to tease the sides of my breasts. It’s fucking torture at this point.

I want him to grab hold of them and suck them til they’re red and raw and I’m screaming for him to fuck me. I want him thick and hard, pounding into me, making my mind blank of everything but the feel of him moving inside me. None of which we can do right now. I tuck my face against Peeta’s throat to hide the way I’m starting to pant. I grip his shirt and narrow my existence to the slide of his skin on mine.

But Haymitch has suddenly discovered his overprotective father figure side, kicking Peeta’s seat and jostling us apart again. I wonder how he seems to know every time we get a little too close or maybe I’ve made a remotely suspicious noise that woke him and tipped him off.

“Not much legroom on these damn things, is there?” Haymitch grumbles. Or maybe it’s just unlucky coincidence. Peeta and I knock it off after that. My mind still churns with ideas, ways to get him naked enough so we can deal with the mounting tension between us. Periodically, I’ll glance back and find Haymitch wide awake and reading. Ugh. I can’t bring myself to do anything right in front of him like this, no matter how badly I want Peeta right now.

My back is starting to ache. Chaff snores. The airplane lavatory sounds tempting until I make a solo visit to it and realize that _Ew_ . No. There’s barely enough room for Peeta’s broad shoulders, let alone both of us unless one of us stands on the toilet. So that option’s out. I’m not _that_ desperate just yet.

“Someone buy that geezer a fucking drink,” I seethe under my breath after I return to my seat, still uncomfortably aroused, and find Haymitch still wide awake. Peeta smiles and turns his focus to a sketch he started while I was gone. I want to chuck it down the aisle and demand he use those talented fingers on me instead.

I distract myself with my book for all of thirty minutes and then try to have a normal conversation with Peeta, but it’s hard to do when my brain can’t get around the idea of ducking under the blanket to suck him off. Not that I would do that with the audience we have. I still haven’t even asked for Skype sex, and I’m not confident enough in the oral sex department to take the risk of trying it on a plane full of people. But I do spend an obscene amount of time imagining the noises he might make with my mouth on his cock and it only makes my situation worse.

Finally, _FINALLY!_ Haymitch falls back asleep and Chaff becomes absorbed in a movie. As soon as I see my chance, I adjust the blanket and work Peeta’s jeans open enough so I can get my hand on his dick. He hisses as I pump his length and grabs my wrist, halting the motion and whispering that it’s pretty obvious what I’m doing with the way the blanket is moving. And while I’m close to not caring, his next question gives me reason to pause.

“And how exactly am I gonna clean that up if you make me come in my pants?”

My face burns as he smiles and shifts us so that I’m facing the aisle, leaning back into his chest with one knee bent up to lift the blanket off my hips. His fingers trail up under my shirt and repeat what he’s already done while I hold myself rigid, desperate to hide what we’re doing from the middle aged woman across the aisle working on a crossword puzzle. He touches me for what feels like hours. And just when I think I can’t take another second of this, Peeta plucks at the buttons on my jeans, opening them one by one. I squirm a little, hoping he’ll move faster. When my movements catch the attention of the woman across the aisle and she glances up at me, I feign sleep.

Just in time, too. Because that’s when Peeta slips his fingers inside my jeans and caresses me over my panties. I grip his arm to hold it in place, my other hand holding the blanket secure at my throat. I keep my eyes shut, my body perfectly still and at his mercy. He keeps his pace slow, the pressure barely noticeable at first. It won’t get me anywhere but turned on beyond reason, as if I’m not already at that threshold, and yet I let him do it. I crave his touch right now, anything I can get. I’m tingling from scalp to toes. Desire coils inside me, tighter and tighter, deep in my gut until I’m throbbing with it and yet nowhere near release.

Worst of all, we can’t say a word. Even our whispers seemed to draw Haymitch’s attention so I keep my mouth shut. The one time I chance a look at Peeta, he’s got his eyes closed too. Anyone looking at us would assume that we’re sleeping. My body and the blanket know otherwise.

Less than thirteen hours by now, but I’ve lost track of just how many are left. I’m not sure how long he keeps it up. He stops when they come by to ask if we’d like a beverage and doesn’t resume when they leave. The need doesn’t abate at all but instead turns to a hollow ache demanding to be filled.

He goes back to sketching, only occasionally glancing over at me and smiling. Fuck, he is yummy. I get the insane urge to bite his lip, but Haymitch is awake again and I can’t.

I make another attempt at reading but I read the same page at least three times. The look on Peeta’s face coupled with the casual way he asks me questions about my book is infuriating. As if he doesn’t know that I’m sopping wet and unable to concentrate and it’s all his doing. I know that I’m scowling at him every time we share a glance, and it only makes his smile wider, which only serves to frustrate me even more. I want to sit on his face and smother that smirk. The only satisfaction I get are the moments I catch him shifting in his seat, discreetly adjusting himself. At least I’m not the only one suffering from deprivation here.

I almost forget that my jeans are undone until they announce our descent and Peeta whispers a reminder in my ear. Glaring at him, I fix them under the blanket, and he has the nerve to smile at me and say, “One more flight after this.”

Yes, one more flight and then an hour of driving to get to our destination. I’m tired and horny and just want five minutes alone with my boyfriend that I won’t be getting any time soon. Damnit.

Peeta uses our layover in Auckland to check on Gramps. I use it to update Prim and then to brush my teeth and freshen up with some wipes. It’s early morning here but it’s afternoon back home, and I’m feeling the length of time we’ve been traveling on my skin.

One stage at a time, we finally make it. I’m half asleep on my feet and pissed off. I don’t remember my flights to Europe for my own competitions taking this much out of me. Then again, I’ve never spent those flights dangling off the precipice of need.

“Here we are,” Haymitch announces and looks around the apartment he rented for us with satisfaction. It’s cozy. Two bedrooms, each with two twin beds.

“Lady gets first pick of rooms,” Chaff says and smiles at me. I grab Peeta’s hand and send a glare at Haymitch that dares him to risk my wrath and say a word as I lead Peeta into one of the two rooms. Thankfully, Haymitch seems to understand that this is not something he wants to tangle with me over and turns to the second room without a word. He and Chaff can be buddies for a few weeks. I toss my suitcase on one of the beds and set my skis in the corner next to where Peeta’s put his boards. I make a show of carefully unpacking my things.

“This place is stunning,” Peeta says as he tugs back the curtain to look up at the mountains. It’s still early spring here, and there’s plenty of powder on the slopes.

“Alright kids,” I hear Chaff announce from the doorway. “We’re gonna head to that grocery store we saw up the street for some provisions. How about you get some rest. I know neither of you got much sleep on the plane and tomorrow we get back into training.”

Peeta’s cheeks turn pink as Haymitch stands behind Chaff. I continue unpacking and ignore them, although my ears are trained to the sounds as they leave. I wait thirty seconds after the door shuts and hurry to the window in the other room.

“Katniss?” Peeta asks as I watch them disappear from sight and a strangled sound of relief shoves its way out of my throat. I whirl around and charge, grab his wrist and keep going. “Is something wrong?”

His teasing tone aggravates me. He damn well knows what’s wrong with me. I don’t even bother with the door to our room or with real words because oh my god I need him right fucking now or I’m going to explode.

“In bed,” I growl.

“Right. Sleep. Thought we could take a shower bef--” Peeta stops talking when I whirl around and smack my hands on his chest. He’s grinning but it turns to a look of surprise as my fingers clench, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, and I fall back onto the bed, taking him down with me. He lands heavily on top of me, but at least he can’t talk with my tongue down his throat. I taste his muffled noise of shock and then he catches up, his hands shifting his weight so we’re vaguely more comfortable and his hips are aligned with mine. Then he’s kissing me back as frantically as I’m kissing him, our hips gyrating wildly together.

I can’t make up my mind. I push at his shirt to get it off him but I want his lips on mine. I can feel him smiling and I make whimpering noises of protest when I can’t have both. He breaks the kiss, making the choice for me and my first breath is a gasping command.

“Strip.” He laughs as he peels off his shirt. I struggle with my sweater and he starts kissing my belly before I’ve got it all the way off.

“Faster!” I issue my next command to the fibers of my sweater but Peeta hears it, hands tugging at my jeans. He removes them and my panties at the same time, flinging them across the room. The buttons clank on something but fuck if I care. I’ve finally got the sweater and my shirt off and Peeta’s shoved my bra up to my throat and is devouring my breasts.

“Later,” I say and push him off my chest. Our hands fight over who’s going to get his jeans undone. I give up and go searching through his pockets and wallet, crowing in triumph when I find a condom. He’s got his jeans and shorts down to only his thighs, still halfway distracted with my bra. It’s enough for what I need so I roll the condom on him. He makes a small sound of pain when it gets caught on hair, but oh well. He can take the pain. I’ll make it up to him. I shift my legs and shove my hips up, taking all of him at once.

“Fuck!” he yells and my arms fly up over my head as he gives up on bra clasps and just tears the thing off my body. It scrapes over my face and arms, but I’m just glad to be free of the thing. His hands slam back to the bed on either side of my head.

“Naked enough,” I say and grab his ass. “Move. Now.”

“Are you--”

“Now, Peeta!” His hips jerk almost on reflex and I arch beneath him, the most ridiculous moan pulled from deep inside my chest. The sound of finally grasping hold of my most urgent need.

“Well that answers my question,” he says and when I look up at him, he’s got that damn smile on his face again. The one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

He uses his arms to move his body. I get lost in watching them flex and release with each meeting of our hips. His eyes haze over and his hair tickles my forehead. I brace my feet on the bed and lift myself to meet him. I can’t keep my hands still. Feeling his muscles beneath the skin speeds me along as fast as the feel of him filling me over and over, the grind of his body against my swollen clit. Curse words pour out of my mouth as I demand he give me what I need.

I claw at his back and his chest and then curl up into him and bite his shoulder with a scream as I crest. My entire body shakes with my release and I vaguely hear him groan before he lifts his hips and pounds away. I cling to him as he comes to rest, his head thrown back and his body shuddering against mine. If I hadn’t already come, the sight of him like that and the sounds he makes as he says my name would send me over with him.

We collapse and gasp for air, the sounds harsh in each other’s ears. I can already feel the need for another growing within me, but ignore it for now. I play with his hair and caress over his shoulders, hook my feet over his thighs as his weight presses down on me.

“Can I shower now?” he pants out the question and I laugh, hold him tighter. I can feel him softening inside me, but I’m not ready for him to move just yet.

“In a minute,” I tell him.

“Okay. That works. Not sure I could move yet anyways. Might just fall asleep here,” he says and then yawns.

“Stop that,” I say around my own yawn. My limbs suddenly feel heavy now that I’m temporarily satisfied.

We manage a shower and dress in fresh clothes that are comfortable enough to sleep in. When I emerge from the bathroom, Peeta’s got the two beds shoved together against the wall and an extra blanket tucked over both to turn it into one bed. I have my doubts, but we curl up on it anyways. With his arms around me, my ear resting on his chest where I can hear his heartbeat, I fall right to sleep.

When I wake, Peeta’s brushing hair off my forehead. He watches me as I stretch. I listen for sounds in the other part of the apartment but hear nothing.

“Which meal is it?” I ask and Peeta laughs.

“Close to dinner here.”

“Where’s our adult supervision?”

“Sleeping,” he says and the smile that curves his lips is dazzling. It tells me he’s thinking the same thing as me. We’re on each other in an instant.

After we’ve tested the sturdiness of our joined bed and then make ourselves decent, we head out to the kitchen area and check out the groceries. We scrape together a dinner, enjoying each other’s company and the contentment from doing something so humdrum with each other. Making a meal.

Haymitch and Chaff wake up groggy, complaining about our loud music and laughter until they get a whiff of what we’ve prepared. We all take a quick walk after dinner, taking in the raw beauty of the land that we can see, eager to see it up close tomorrow. With our legs stretched, heads clear, and stomachs full, it’s back to bed because it’s up early for training in the morning.

Peeta has to hold my head between his hands that night, one broad palm on the back and the other covering my mouth to stifle my moans as I buck wildly over him.

In the morning, Haymitch looks askance at the deep purple splotches on Peeta’s neck, right beneath his left ear, as we load up to head up to the ski areas. Under the scrutiny, Peeta’s ears and cheeks turn a complementary shade of red.

A week flies by with training, some work squeezed in here and there, and even some fun exploring what we can of the south island. My purpose here is to keep Peeta relaxed and able to focus. I make sure he talks to Gramps and Graham often and that no one interrupts those calls. Graham assures us that Eirik is taking it easy, getting plenty of rest, and enjoying the time with his four great-grand daughters. He sends pictures and videos of the girls and Eirik that make us laugh. More of the solar eclipse, and while both Peeta and I wish we could have been there, sometimes choices have to be made.

We all take turns snapping pictures to send home or for Peeta to post to his newly launched social media accounts. His students respond enthusiastically, and a desire sparks to life in me one evening as we’re reclining in bed, my back against his chest. He’s just posted a picture of him at the edge of the slopes, Lake Wanaka in the distance behind him when a young girl named Emily reTweets it with unrestrained excitement.

_Check it out! It’s my snowboarding teacher! He’s in New Zealand! Awesome! #lifegoals_

Peeta explains that Emily is twelve, was born with a congenital amputation of both legs, and she talks all the time about traveling the world some day, conquering at least one mountain on every continent that has snowboarding, and writing about it, but that lately she’s been struggling with a great deal of self-doubt. Peeta sets aside his phone after I read her words, warmed by her enthusiasm and knowing that his kids are important to Peeta. I can tell by the way he gets excited by their excitement.

“I want to meet them,” I tell him. He laces our fingers together and lifts my hand so he can kiss my knuckles.

“Sure, I don't see why not. If you’re home for one of the camps it should be easy,” Peeta says. It’s not a chastisement, just honest.

I still feel the reminder that we’re on stolen time and I know that it shows in the way I act around him. Like we’re desperate to cram years into weeks. Not just making up for lost time, but also banking against future time when we won’t be together. It shows in the way we act like we’re fifteen again in many respects.

It’s a good thing I brought my own downhill skis and poles this time because there are some mornings when Peeta and I wake early just to sneak out and ride the slopes for fun, without Chaff and Haymitch. Haymitch pretends not to notice but his under breath grumblings tell me he knows what we’re up to.

“I won’t break my neck,” I promise him when he spots me waxing my downhill set one night. He mutters to himself and goes back to his beer and poker game with Chaff. Most of the time, though, I behave myself and stick to my cross country skis and training with my rifle. I don’t need to lose all my hard work while I’m here.

Gramps asks about everything that we do. Asks for pictures of everything and responds with lightning speed when we send them. Every time Peeta starts to worry that he should be at home, taking care of Gramps and Skadi, I point back to Eirik’s unbridled interest.

“He wants you to do this, Peeta. He’d be heartbroken if he were the reason you didn’t,” I remind him one day. Another, I tell him, “These pictures we’re sending, of you happy and chasing your dream...that’s the best way you can care for him right now. Show him that you’re not gonna give up.”

The circles slowly fade from beneath Peeta’s eyes.

Another week flies by just as fast as the first. There’s more than just para snowboarding here right now. It’s a winter games for both adaptive and able bodied sports with a handful of events. Ryen’s even in town for a few days, although since his event is at another ski area, we don’t see much of him. He and Peeta keep up a regular text conversation, and we do see him for a few hours when we make the drive back to Queenstown for the opening ceremonies.

It’s strange, hanging out with both of them again, and Ryen insists on getting at least a few pictures of the three of us together. When Ryen mentions sending them to Gramps at a reasonable hour back home, because right now it’s close to midnight there, I can’t help but wonder if any of these will make The Wall at Skadi. If they’re still adding to it.

Although in many respects, it’s a lot different now that we’re older. A stunning brunette comes over at one point and drapes her arms around Ryen’s shoulders and leans into his back. She whispers in his ear and he laughs nervously. For a second, it looks like he’s trying to extricate himself from her grasp and before I have time to even dissect what this scene means, the skank notices Peeta.

“Ryen, who is your friend?” she purrs, but I still pick up what sounds like a French accent. The gleam in her eyes makes my fingers itch for my rifle.

“This is my brother, Peeta. Baby of the family and also the weirdo who can only manage a snowboard instead of two skis. Peeta, this is Vienne Rochette.”

“Should I ask Ygrette to come over? She’s single now.”

“Ah no,” Ryen says before I can speak up. He motions towards me. “And this is Katniss Everdeen. Biathlete -- you know the skiing with the rifle shooting? -- and also my brother’s girlfriend.”

“Hm, too bad. Guess it’s just you and me then,” she says and I raise one eyebrow as she pulls him away from us and Ryen goes, making lame excuses about having to represent our country well. At least Prim didn’t get entangled too much with him over the summer. As far as I know, Prim and Ryen haven’t even kept in touch.

“Should I rearrange his face? For Prim?” Peeta asks, as though reading my mind.

“Nah,” I wave it off and smile at him. “She hasn’t talked about him once since we left Skadi. I think she really did manage to keep it to harmless flirting. She got what she wanted and moved on. Good thing, too.”

“Yeah,” Peeta says as we watch Ryen wind his arm around Vienne’s waist. “That’s a relief.”

In our spare time, Peeta and I manage a handful of dates. He takes me dancing one night. To dinner another night, and then out to the middle of nowhere to gaze up at the unfamiliar stars of the southern skies after.

We park the all terrain beast of a car we’ve rented for the trip, spread blankets on the still warm hood and cuddle beneath them. Peeta pulls up a sky guide on his phone. We learn names of stars we’ve never seen before and find new constellations.

“Did you get to see them like this in California?” I ask and wave towards the cloudy band of the Milky Way over us.

“No,” he says and turns his head to face me. “Too many city lights in San Diego. There were other good things about California, but that wasn’t one of them. Not like back home. Not like this.”

“So what was your favorite thing about California?”

“Well there was always something to do, something to go see. Live music somewhere, art galleries and festivals, people from all walks of life and all across the globe. Wakeboarding, surfing, skateboarding. Long road trips to places that all looked different from the last. It was a new experience every day. The Pacific has a beauty all its own. Warm. It was so warm there, but not in a way that made you wish for winter, you know? I never once had to change my socks because they were cold and wet and I might get frostbite or hypothermia, so that was good.” At this, I laugh a little. “Plus you know, nearly year round bikini season.”

I scoff at this and push his face away from me as he grins. “So why didn’t you get yourself a beach bunny while you were there?”

“I dunno. I went out on dates, even had a girlfriend or two here and there. Not at the same time, of course,” he says and I chuckle

“Of course.”

“But I guess I just wasn’t meant to be with any of them,” he says and tips my chin up towards him. He pauses, waiting for my permission to kiss me. My heart flips in my chest at his words and I’m about to give it when something catches my attention and I gasp.

“Peeta...look.”

Streamers of pink and green dance up from the horizon, waving across the sky in a broad banner. Our fingers lace together as we watch the spectacle in silence. The lights weave and glow, fade and then return, a gossamer flag of beauty. It’s over in minutes, fading back into the darkness and leaving us both stunned and breathless.

“Wow,” Peeta breathes. I turn to face him again and find him already watching me.

“We probably should have tried to get a picture of that,” I say.

“I don’t think I’ll be forgetting it anytime soon,” he whispers, and then his lips caress mine.

These aren’t our mountains. These aren’t our stars. But they’ve welcomed us and even shown us some of their secrets. Now we share one of ours with them. It isn’t long before the kisses turn to something else and we scramble back into the car for warmth and the stars bear witness to our need.

During our down time, we spend long hours sitting facing each other on the cushioned bench next to one of the windows. Wrapped in cozy sweaters and blankets with mugs of tea or chocolate. Our feet rubbing beneath the blanket and our hands sometimes linked or our fingers playing and teasing. We fill those hours talking aimlessly or just watching the progress of the sun across the sky, the occasional fall of snow.

The day after we catch the Southern Lights, Peeta paints them on his tablet while we sit on that bench, his fingers deftly swirling the colors over the screen, recreating the beauty of the night. I wonder if he’ll use it for someone’s snowboard or for something else.

But where it’s most obvious that Peeta and I are cramming is in moments when we give in to need. When we can’t keep our hands off each other or our bodies separate for long. Late at night, moments stolen during the day. In the shower. Hidden beneath the pile of blankets on our bed. Even the kitchen when Haymitch and Chaff go out for some local brews one night and we beg off, claiming exhaustion.

That night, Peeta jokes that we might have to ration the condoms or venture into international condom shopping waters. I’m still laughing at his cracks about needing an app for possible size conversions when I come apart beneath him. He drinks my laughter, combining it with his deep moans of satisfaction, and putting me back together as he joins me.

Slowly, the rest of the para snowboarders show up in town, including the team coach, a statuesque woman Peeta introduces as Lyme. She walks with a slight limp, and she’s got an eye that catches pretty much every detail of her athletes’ performances. She also greets Chaff like he’s an old friend.

One day, I go searching for Peeta after I’m done with some target practice and find him sitting in the snow with his right leg up in the air, foot propped on the thigh of a man I’ve never met. His snow pants are shoved up over the knee joint and the stranger is tinkering with Peeta’s prosthetic.

“You really can’t jerk it too hard. It’s fairly robust. I designed it to take a good beating.” They’re completely absorbed and I clear my throat to get Peeta’s attention.

He looks up at me and blinks, his face and voice remaining deadpan serious as he says, “This isn’t what it looks like.”

I can’t help the laugh that breaks free.

“Katniss Everdeen, meet Beetee Latier.” Of course, this is “Stark.”

“Pleasure,” he says without even looking up from Peeta’s leg. He is unamused and goes right back to whatever they were discussing beforehand, as though he doesn’t have time to be bothered with mundane things such as introductions or jokes, his mind preoccupied with other, more important concepts.

I grow more nervous as the crowds thicken until finally, the day for practice runs on the official course arrives. And then it’s over.

That night, we lay in bed facing one another. Our fingers trace up arms, over shoulders, and then back down. We blink in the quiet and listen to the hum of the heater. I wish I could think of something wise or encouraging to say to him. I doubt my own success at keeping him relaxed the past few weeks.

His hand sweeps up to my cheek and his thumb presses down on my lip, working it free of my teeth. It makes me feel even worse, him soothing my nerves and fears when I’m supposed to be doing that for him. When I manage to meet his eyes, I find no reproach. No guilt. Only a softness I thought I’d lost years ago. He shifts closer and my eyes drift shut as he kisses me. Our lips move easily and one by one, worries fall away, forgotten beneath the hungry touch of lips and tongue.

We don’t push any further than that, not willing to risk wearing him out the night before. It’s already difficult enough finding sleep with excitement and adrenaline high. Although when the alarms start ringing in the morning, Peeta appears to be well rested. I don’t feel rested, but my state of rest is not the one that matters today.

The apartment is chaos for about an hour as everyone prepares for the day and then Haymitch whisks us all to the check in points.

We’ve spent months working to get Peeta here, and now that it’s arrived, I hardly know what to do with myself. I linger by his side as Chaff works with him to make sure his board and prosthetic are both set up the way he wants them. Last minute adjustments are made based on the practice runs yesterday and the weather reports for today. I become superfluous as Peeta’s three team mates set up nearby and chat with him while they do the same thing he is. Lyme flits by once, but since she works with the whole team, both men and women, she’s got a lot of ground to cover.

A number of athletes from other countries wander by, their necks craning to scope out the fresh competition and then whipping back around to watch where they’re going.

“I feel like the new kid at school,” Peeta says.

“It’s your baby face,” Ansel says, which makes the guys laugh, but I scowl at the joke. It’s the first thing I’ve heard him say since I met him a few days ago and I don’t know how to take it. Peeta notices and pulls me close to explain.

“I’m fairly young in terms of para snowboarders. Most of the top ranked racers are in their thirties. We’ve got a couple who are in their forties even.”

“Oh,” I say and my cheeks warm. I hadn’t realized. I’m so used to seeing teenaged or early twenties snowboarders with actual baby faces on the podiums. I didn’t even think to look at average ages of competitors when I shoved Peeta into this. And then I think of something hopefully encouraging to say. “Well I guess that means you’re not late to the party.”

Peeta smiles and I relax. Just because there are people around, doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly forgotten how to get him to smile. I just have to be myself, I guess.

After that, I do better. I make myself useful and take a handful of pictures of Peeta by himself and with his team. We make sure to get a shot of his board in the snow next to the banner for sign ins. We took one a few days ago with the sun coming up over one of the peaks behind it and it’ll make a nice set with this picture. He has a tag that he tracks for Skadi Custom Skis. Customers who travel with their boards can take pictures and post them #WhereInTheWorldAreSkadisSkis. Today I post for him, adding #TrebleCone #NewZealand #paralympics #parasnowboarding.

“I’m getting the hang of this Twitter thing, I think,” I tell Peeta as I show him. “I might actually cave and set one up for myself, too.”

“I get to edit your posts,” Haymitch says and I make a face at him before returning my attention to Peeta.

“Besides, I’ve got three pairs of skis headed to Korea and various European countries. Gotta add those to your tracking, right?”

“Certainly wouldn’t hurt to have another Olympian advertising for me,” Peeta says and I elbow him playfully.

Eventually, Peeta has to head up the mountain and I have to take my seat with Haymitch. Chaff makes his way towards the reception area at the bottom where he’ll meet Peeta at the end of his runs. Before Peeta can go, I grab hold of his arm and tug him towards me. His feet slip a little and I push myself into him, wrap my arms around him. He catches his balance and returns the embrace. I hide my face in his bib, angry with myself that I almost knocked him over before he competes, but when I lift my head, you’d never know it to look at Peeta’s face. He’s smiling, happy. It fades when he gets a good look at me. He cups my cheeks in his hands.

“Hey. What’s with the tears?”

“Nothing. These aren’t sad tears, okay?” I say and swipe at them, furious with myself for ruining this for him.

I plant my hands on his chest and bring our foreheads together. It’s a little awkward with his helmet already on and his goggles on top of it. I suddenly wish that I’d brought my iPod. Why didn’t I even think of it? I’m so out of practice with this. I haven’t been to a competition as support or just to watch in ages, but there is one thing I can do. I take a deep breath and release the words in a whisper.

“Go get it.”

I know he heard. I can tell by the way his hands squeeze lightly on my neck before he let’s me go and turns towards the shout of his name and I’m left standing with Haymitch.

We make our way to the stands and begin the waiting. That’s the worst part. Waiting through the women as they take their first run, although I have to say that watching them is impressive. For all of Peeta’s talk of his camaraderie with his team, it’s clear within a few runs that every athlete here is determined to win. Friendships are checked at the starting gate and picked back up at the finish line.

“So explain this to me again,” Haymitch says at one point, although I know he’s just doing it to distract me. I spit out the rules that he already knows.

“They each get three runs. Their best time determines their overall place. Fastest time wins. They say the memory is the first thing to go, Old Man.”

“Just making sure you’re still alive over there. You haven’t moved in forty minutes.”

The next racer falls and I cringe. Crashes are always expected in this kind of competition, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. Especially when I know it’ll be Peeta’s turn soon. The racer gets up and finishes her run to enthusiastic applause.

Haymitch asks about the whole social media thing and he pesters me until I’ve made use of the data plan I’m paying for to sign myself up for both Twitter and Instagram. That takes up a lot of time and we’re in the midst of the men’s upper limb division when I finish and show Haymitch for his approval.

“Better?”

“Yep. We’ve gotta work on your image leading up to Korea.”

“I planned on letting my skiing and shooting do the talking.”

“Better to start this crap now, figure out how you plan on answering questions, before they throw you to the sharks when the media hype starts up in a few months. And it will start up,” Haymitch says. I’m reminded of the conversation we had before he sent me home to fix my slump. When I told him that I’m not a human interest story and he insisted it didn’t matter if I am or not. They’ll turn me into one. So if I start now, then I might have some shred of control over the narrative that they tell. Time to prepare my answers to questions that I maybe don’t want to face.

I’m distracted by the announcement of the start of the men’s SB-LL1 division and turn to face the screen. I focus on faces as they appear in the starting gate, searching for Peeta’s. Then names and times as they’re added to the board after each racer takes his turn. I size up the competition although I know it does Peeta no good right now. It’s really just to keep me from freaking out.

I start biting my nails when they announce, “New to competitive para snowboarding this season, number 24, Peeta Mellark, representing the United States of America.”

My eyes go blurry as I refuse to blink and miss a second of watching him set up in the starting gate. He nods his head as Lyme speaks to him, but I can’t hear what she’s saying as he adjusts the hand bars for his height and shifts his legs to place his board where he wants it.

“Here we go,” Haymitch says when Peeta’s all set. I reach over and grab his hand. Shockingly, he’s got nothing sarcastic to say, and today I’m grateful for it.

For one second, the entire world is silent and still. Then Peeta launches himself out of the gate and the clock starts running.

It takes him less than a minute to make it to the bottom of the course. Less than a minute of me squeezing the circulation out of Haymitch’s hand and not breathing. I tune out the announcers and their inane comments. I don’t even risk looking at his split times, instead honed in on what I want to see.

Him.

Carving through turns, his hand hovering over the packed smooth snow as he bends lower to gain speed, leans into the banks to milk every second off his time then pops upright to unleash the speed. I can see the proof of all his hard work the past few months, and the pesky tears return, welling up at the bottom of my eyes before I wipe them away with the heel of my palm.

And when he crosses the finish line, all the fear and worries leave me in a rush. He swings the board around to skid on the back edge for a few feet and sways forward as he comes to a stop. He lifts his hand in a wave as the audience claps and a choked noise leaves me. I’m on my feet, shouting and waving back with both hands, hoping he found me in the crowd before he spins and scoots towards the receiving area to have his board checked. It’s only then that I look at his time on the screen.

 _42.32._ Second place behind Beetee.

But there are still four more competitors for this run and two more runs to make. Blight puts up a first place time, knocking Peeta to third. The last racer for Peeta’s group, a competitor from Japan, squeaks into third with a time of 42.22, only a tenth of a second better than Peeta’s.

The waiting begins anew as the LL2 guys take their turn and then we cycle back through the women’s second run. I debate texting Peeta and play with my phone to keep my hands busy. I don’t want to break his focus right now.

“Just call the boy already. You’re driving me crazy,” Haymitch complains and I glare at him. But I do send Peeta a quick text.

**_Looking good up there, Cupcake._ **

_Feels good too, Sweetheart. Not bad for my first time back in the game, yeah? ;-)_

**_Not bad at all_ **

For his second run, I manage to get a few pictures and even a short video that Peeta will be able to post later. I’ll send it to Gramps and Prim too, when I can make sure the time difference won’t be a problem. Peeta shaves a second off his time, but so does the guy in second and third. The top four don’t move at all.

We drink from our thermos. I cough and sputter when it first hits my tongue and I realize that Haymitch added some kind of spirit to our tea.

“I wasn’t sure how spun up you’d be today. Thought it might help relax you,” he says with a shrug. I want to be mad, but I grab the thermos back out of his hands and take another deep drink.

“Don’t try this at any of my races,” I say and Haymitch chuckles.

“Just think, we get to do this all over again tomorrow. Only the course is longer.”

But it won’t be Peeta’s first day back. I won’t be as worried. I hope. I don’t know why I’m worried now. Peeta looks like he never left the sport. He’s so calm and steady as a rock.

I catch a short glimpse of him on the screen during one of the breaks, sitting in one of the folding chairs scattered behind the starting apparatus, his board on its tail in the snow, leaning against his thigh as he waits for his third run. He’s smiling and talking with some of the others and Lyme. A girl wearing colors from Australia points to his board and says something through her laughs, gives a nod of approval. Whatever new kid syndrome Peeta had was erased with that first trip down the mountain and his friendly, open nature.

His third run is almost a full second faster than his second, but in the end, it’s not enough. Others shave more seconds off their time than he does. He finishes sixth. Right in the middle of the field. You’d never know that by the way he’s smiling when we meet up after and he drops his board in the snow to throw his arms around me, lifting me off the ground.

“Celebrate later,” Chaff suggests. “You’ve got another one tomorrow.”

“Yes, coach,” Peeta says and sets me carefully on my feet to retrieve his board. I still take his free arm and drape it around me as we leave. A few of the other athletes pause to speak to him for a second, most of it welcoming and congratulations on a good showing at his first competition, some of it questions about where he got his board.

After warm showers and a change of clothes, we meet up with part of the team for dinner, and while I’m all out of energy for socializing and really want to get Peeta alone, I enjoy my food, nurse my drink, and wait patiently. He deserves this. I want him to live this experience to the fullest, especially since there will be competitions I can’t make it to and Peeta will need friends on those trips. Friends other than me.

Back in our room, Peeta deals with his coat then falls onto the bed face first, still fully clothed. I hang up my coat as well and then lay out on top of his back.

“What time is it back home?” His words are a little garbled by his squished cheek and I let go of the blonde curl I was twisting around my finger to look at my phone.

“Two in the morning.”

“‘Kay,” he yawns the shortened word.

“Did you wanna get some sleep?”

“In a minute,” he murmurs. “I think the adrenaline just wore off.”

I sit up and straddle his hips, place my hands on his shoulders and start kneading. He moans, and while I know the sound is one of relief, desire shoots right through me. I force myself to keep massaging and to hold my hips still. I want to move them so badly. To stimulate this need in my clit. I remind myself that he’s got another race tomorrow and I shouldn’t wear him out. He’s already tired, the strain of months of preparation finally released, making room for exhaustion.

“Feels good,” he groans after a few minutes and shifts beneath me, rolling his hips. He snakes one hand beneath himself for a second and then back out. An idea takes shape in my mind as I realize that he’s aroused by this. I massage my way down his back, slowly. When I reach his ass, I shift down his body and work my hands around beneath him, grinning when I find him hard.

“Hmmmm, you seem to be carrying some tension here, sir,” I tease.

“I can explain that.”

“No need.” I lift my weight off him, encourage him with my hands to flip over onto his back. He pulls me down on top of him and into a long kiss. He holds me to him with one hand massaging my scalp, the other wandering up beneath my shirt. For a few minutes, I allow myself to be distracted, to lose myself in the kisses and the hunger that has nothing to do with food. But I want to take care of him tonight. I reach behind me and pull his hands free of me, gently pressing his wrists into the bed next to his head. “Allow me.”

I can see the confusion in his eyes right before I kiss along his jaw, up to his ear where I nibble for a second or two and then move back down his torso, kissing over his shirt and unbuttoning it as I go.

“Katniss?” he asks when I reach his belt and tilt my head to kiss over his hips, ending at the bulge in his jeans. His cock jumps eagerly beneath the denim and I open my mouth to cover him, blowing warm air through the fabric. “Fuck.”

I take his awed curse as approval and urge him to remove his shirt. He sits up enough to get both the shirt and the white tee beneath it off his body while I continue mouthing him through his jeans. The fabric grows damp, and I swear his cock has swollen even more just from this.

He leans back on his elbows to watch me and I glance up at his bare chest. He really is a hottie, I think as I shift directions and focus on his torso. Starting with kisses, I cover him with signs of how much I want him.

“Just lay back and let me help you relax, Peeta,” I say as I trace his collar bones and pecs with my tongue, swirl over his nipples and scratch at the smattering of pale blonde curls on his chest as he holds himself still for me. I work my way back towards his belly, outline his abs, watch his arms shake right before he falls back on the bed with a soft groan. His hands grip the pillow beneath his head, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes faster with each passing second. I trace one nail through the line of hair leading from his belly button to the top of his jeans then skip over to unfasten belt then jeans and watch his throat bob while I pull them down his legs.

He’s made me come with his mouth so many times by now, and I want so much to return the gift, to share this with him. I think about the things he does to me that drive me wild and try to repeat them on him, running my hands up both his legs, squeezing his thighs for a second then proceeding to slide my hands beneath his shorts only to scrape my nails back down along his inner thighs.

“You’re killing me,” he groans. “I need to touch you. Please?”

“No,” I say and smile at his whine of frustration. “This is about you, tonight.”

Curling my fingers around the waistband, I pull his shorts down, watch his cock spring up and free, tap onto his belly and then I run the flat of my tongue up his length.

He makes a strangled noise, and I shush him as I hear laughter from one of the other rooms in the apartment. I wanna do this to him, but I’m not too keen on the idea of anyone hearing it as it happens. I get his shorts off him and then examine him, reclined and naked, deciding how I want to proceed. His cock twitches under my stare and Peeta lifts one eyebrow at me.

“Have you…” Peeta licks his lips and swallows before continuing with his question, “done this before?”

I feel my cheeks heating. I’m not sure why he’s asking. I’m not sure why it matters and I scowl. It can’t be that hard, can it? I’ve not had a ton of partners, but I’ve had enough to know most guys are easy to please, even if I’ve never actually finished any of them with my mouth. Besides, I thought we were doing pretty good up to this point.

“No, Katniss,” he says as he sees the look on my face. “I don’t mean… I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, and your face was turning green, so I figured--”

“And what if I have done this before?” I snap and he sighs, sitting up to caress my arms and soothe me.

“I’m sorry, Katniss. Who you’ve been with before and what you have or haven’t done with them isn’t my business unless you decide it is. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine,” I say, slightly mollified by his explanation, and nervously tuck back a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Here.” He reaches for one of the blankets and pulls it towards himself.

“I want to,” I whisper then meet his eyes. My voice is stronger when I repeat the words. “I want to do this with you, Peeta.”

“Okay,” he says but he still drops the blanket, covering his erection. I shift nervously and wonder how I start this back up now that we’ve hit a snag. “Can I ask what’s worrying you first?”

I open my mouth to tell him that I’m not worried, but the sweetness in his gaze stops me. I somehow know that Peeta won’t make me feel bad for the thoughts and fears in my head.

“That I won’t be any good at it,” I admit. “When you…” I wave towards his mouth and then my core. “...It feels...so amazing. I just want to do the same for you.”

Peeta reaches over and and runs his thumb along my bottom lip, his mouth curving up in a slow, sexy smile. “Trust me, Katniss. You have a huge advantage here. I’m almost embarrassed to admit how many times I’ve thought about your lips wrapped around my cock.”

“That’s not helpful,” I whisper. Now I’m thinking that I might really disappoint him if he’s thought about it that much.

“I think I said that poorly. I’m trying to say that just the excitement I feel at the thought of your mouth on me and that one swipe of your tongue when I wasn’t expecting it got me pretty close to coming.” The way he says it makes me believe him. “But we can stop right now if you’d rather.”

I can see in his eyes that he means it. He won’t push me or expect anything out of me that I’m not willing to give. And the thing is, I do want to do this. I flatten my hand on his chest and feel his heart beating beneath my palm as I gently push him back towards the mattress. He goes without a fight and I peel back the blanket, tossing it aside to reveal him to me once again.

Wrapping my hand around him, I slowly pump up and down his shaft, watching the skin wrinkle and stretch with each movement. When I find the courage to look back up at him, his eyes are dark and honed in on my face. I move so that I’m on my knees between his outstretched legs, one hand braced next to his hip. Holding him still and pointed skyward, I stick out my tongue and flick at his head. Peeta draws in a sharp breath and I do it again, slower this time. Again, venturing a slow circle around the crown.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers and grabs hold of the sheets with both hands.

Emboldened, I take him in my mouth and bob my head, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. Every few strokes, I try to take more of him. When I chance another look up at him, he’s watching me and pulling on the sheets, his eyes a deep, hazy blue and his mouth hanging open with his quick breaths. I hollow my cheeks and suck. Peeta groans and his hips lift, shoving him too far into my mouth and I gag a little.

“Shit. Sorry,” he says as I back off of him. “I’m so sorry.”

He reaches for the blanket again and I swat his hands away, determined to get this right. I grip him again and then pause. “Maybe some guidance. And restraint?”

“I could, uh, coach you through it, if you want,” he says with a teasing smile. I know he doesn’t mean it as an insult and nod once. He bites his lip and leverages himself up enough to wrap his hand over mine. Together, we work his length for a moment.

When he moans deep in his throat again, I kiss his tip then open wide. He squeezes my hand once and halts our movements while I take him in my mouth. When my lips hit our joined fists, he strokes our hands up, pushing my mouth up his length. I follow our strokes back down, pick up the rhythm he sets.

“Yeah, just like that,” he breathes. It isn’t long before saliva slips out around my lips and trickles down over and between our joined fingers. The noises I’m making on him turn obscene. But he’s enjoying it. I can tell by his soft, encouraging moans and the gentle rocking of his hips beneath me. The eager way he asks me to go harder right before he tightens our grip on him.

So I try the sucking thing he seemed to like earlier again. This time he’s able to control his hips, but not the garbled sounds he makes as he closes his eyes and his hand squeezes mine close to the point of pain. I try to keep going, but he’s getting kind of loud. I pull my mouth off him and Peeta whimpers in protest.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Why’d you get so loud?” My whisper sounds like a hiss.

“I can’t help it. It feels really fucking good,” he says with wild eyes, and a thrill of pride runs through me.

“Good enough to come?”

“I’ve been trying not to. ...You want me to?”

“Yes,” I answer, grabbing his phone and starting some music to cover our noises, turning it up a little and hoping it’s not something that’ll kill the mood. Then I grab his discarded white under shirt and twist it into a tight rope. “Any more requests before I use this?”

“I wouldn’t complain if you were naked, too.” I narrow my eyes, but he smiles, unapologetic.

“Open wide, Peeta.”

“Fuck,” he mutters but he does as I ask and bites down on his shirt. I stand back and then one by one, peel off my clothes until I’m down to my panties. Peeta tries to say something around the gag that sounds a lot like it might be, “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” but I can’t be sure as I return to my spot between his legs.

This time I give his balls some attention first, wondering what effect that will have on him. He falls back on the pillow and his left leg jerks, his foot kicking the wall, his groans still audible to me but muffled by the music and the shirt. I giggle at the face he’s making and then go right back to sucking him like before. Even with the gag in his mouth, he’s still kind of noisy, but now I can hear the TV playing something out in the living room, covering the sounds a little more.

Harder, faster, as I suck him in earnest, watching his face screw up and his hands tear at the sheets beneath him. His thigh clenches under my hand and I can feel him arching up into my mouth. His cheeks turn red and it spreads down his neck.

Peeta’s hands fly to my hair and pull me off of him. I manage to keep my grip on his cock and feel him pulsing as a stream of cum lands on his chest. His eyes roll back in his head as I stroke him. He picks his head off the pillow and slams it back down. Again and again while more of his cum spurts out then drips down over my hand. I keep pumping him until his foot starts kicking the wall again and he’s done coming.

“Shhh, Peeta! They’re gonna hear you,” I say around my laughs. He removes his shirt from his mouth and gasps for air, his chest now splotchy and heaving. I use the shirt to wipe my hand clean and then crawl up to lay down next to him. His dazed eyes stare up at the ceiling and his breathing calms. Doubts start to creep back in as I brush a damp strand of hair off his forehead, but then he smiles and it’s so beautiful that I can’t help but want to taste it. When our lips part, I tuck myself into his side and he uses the shirt to clean up the rest of our mess.

I close my eyes and try to sleep, but Peeta’s fingers are wandering dangerously close to the top of my panties, and I’m still riding the high of pleasing him. “Thought you were gonna get some sleep.”

“I’m wide awake now,” he murmurs. “And you know what I really want right now?”

“What?” I ask and open one eye to look at him.

“Dessert,” he says with a wicked smile. I think for a moment and then nod.

“Haymitch hid the cookies, but I found them yesterday.”

“Stale cookies are not what I had in mind,” he whispers and his hand trails over my hip, down my thigh as I shiver and scoot closer to leech more of his body heat. He gently rolls my leg away from him, opening me to him, and draws circles in the crease. “Found something else I want. And neither of us has to get out of this incredibly comfortable bed for it.”

I run my hand up his arm and neck, bury it in his hair and pull his mouth to mine as his hand pushes beneath my panties. He cups me and rubs slowly. I know I said I wanted tonight to be all about him, but between his kisses and the touch of his fingers between my legs, I’m wet and aching for him in a ridiculously short amount of time.

When he parts my folds, I lift my hips into his hand, sinking his fingers inside me. Then they curl and his tongue massages the roof of my mouth in the same pulse beat his fingers move at and I rocket from turned on into desperate so fast I’m almost dizzy. He keeps the pace frustratingly slow and my hips dance in sync with his touches. I manage to get my panties off at some point and kick them off the bed.

“Peeta,” I whisper when he lifts his head and his fingers slide free of me. Before I can beg him to keep going, he sits up, bringing me with him. His hand curls around my thigh and I smile as I follow his lead, straddling him and winding my arms around his shoulders. My hips still move, seeking any kind of friction. He’s still recovering so I wind up rubbing myself on his stomach and dropping soft kisses along the freckled bridge of his nose. And it’s not nearly enough.

“You drive me wild, Katniss,” he whispers between kisses along the column of my throat, his hands roaming over my back, kneading my ass. “And what I really want right now is to have you in my mouth. Have you doing this sexy dance with your hips on my face. I wanna make you come so hard that I can’t keep up with drinking it all. I wanna drown in you.”

My moan strangles in my throat and I buck against him.

“You’re dessert tonight, Katniss,” he says and I laugh at the ridiculous look he gives me before falling back on the pillow. He lifts me bodily in his hands and resettles me straddling his head, an eager smile on his lips before he pulls me down onto them.

My body melts as Peeta’s tongue transforms my laughter into sighs of delight and moans of pleasure. His hands guide me in rotating my hips over his mouth. With each revolution, I sink deeper into the feeling until I’m bracing my hands above his head and my hips move without his guidance. He sucks on my clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over it. My legs seize and pull in, clamping his head between my thighs as I grip his hair and I’m sure I’m crushing him, but he doesn’t seem concerned. The backs of his fingers caress up over my ass, as far as he can reach up my back. When he retraces the path, the gentle scrape of his short nails on my skin sends shivers through me.

It’s a fight to keep my body upright over him and not smother him as one of his hands curves around my cheeks and his fingers add the sensations until I’m biting my lip and mewling then paralyzed as his quiet moans and the relentless flicks of his tongue have me coming. Soft waves follow in a second round right on the heels of the first.

When it’s over and my muscles release me from their grip, I curl over and bury my face in the pillow, my hands trapped beneath me, still gripping his hair. I might actually drown him with my release.

He’s still lapping away at me when I’m capable of moving and I groan before rolling off of him, unable to take it any longer. I wind up on my stomach with my arms tucked up beneath me, my heart rate gradually slowing. Peeta scoots close, his body pressed up against mine as he covers us with blankets, and his fingers caressing over my back. We fall asleep like that, only waking when his phone starts going off and Haymitch pounds on the door to wake us.

The second day of races goes much like the first, only I’m calmer and more able to enjoy watching him. I even manage to talk with some of the people sitting around us. The sister of one of the competitors from Austria, the husband and two kids of one of the women from the Netherlands. Shortly after they’ve started cycling through everyone’s second run, someone plops down in the stands behind me and leans uncomfortably forward, his bent arms resting on the backs of Haymitch’s and my seats.

“Whadid I miss?” Ryen asks and I relax knowing it’s just him.

“We’re in eighth right now, they just started the second round,” I tell him and Ryen nods. “I thought you were busy today?”

“Eh, I made room for the runt.”

I roll my eyes and knock his arm off my seat.

“Got anything good in that thermos, Haymitch?” Ryen asks and Haymitch passes it back without a word. Surprisingly, having Ryen with us makes the waiting more bearable and before I know it, they’re announcing Peeta’s turn again.

“He’s consistent, I’ll give him that,” Haymitch says as Peeta’s new time moves him into sixth for now.

“Hey, Katniss. Haymitch. Turn around and try to look like you’re having fun,” Ryen says. We turn and find him holding up his phone, taking a picture of us.

“What’s that for?” Haymitch asks and Ryen shrugs, focused on his screen as he taps something out.

“Gramps is loving all these pictures and I figure there aren’t that many of the two of you.” My phone chimes then and I glance at the preview. It’s not a great picture, but Ryen’s right. Getting Haymitch in front of a camera isn’t easy. “Did you send those pictures from the other night to Prim?”

“Yeah,” I say, momentarily distracted by the crowd gasping. I look up in time to see the current racer windmilling her arms and then saving it before she falls.

“She say anything?”

“Not much. Just that she was glad we were having a good time and loving all the updates.” Haymitch shifts beside me and I glance over at him. I can almost hear his question based on the look in his eyes.

_Do I need to be concerned with this punk asking about my girl?_

I give him an almost imperceptible shake of my head, my lips pursed together. Prim won’t appreciate me bringing Haymitch into this if there’s not anything serious going on. I’m glad when Ryen doesn’t question anymore, although now I’m wondering if maybe Peeta does need to rearrange his face after all.

“Okay,” Ryen says and then he’s distracted by someone he apparently knows.

The course is longer today, which gives more opportunity for improvements from one run to the next, but Peeta fares about the same today as he did yesterday. His last run is his best again and he finishes sixth overall, with all three of his times in a tight grouping within about five seconds of each other.

When it’s over and we’re back in the hotel, the post-competition down starts to hit. For me, I have competitions back to back for most of the winter. I don’t have time for that low to hit. Peeta’s schedule has fewer events and bigger gaps between, so much like when we were kids, I can tell that the doubt is creeping in as he starts organizing his things and packing to go home.

Months of preparation for a handful of days of actual racing followed by a huge lull. It can be a bit of a let down and make you wonder why you’re even bothering. So I make use of the wealth of information that is the internet and find a place in town with live music playing. After he’s showered and dressed, I drag him out for one last night of fun.

We get lost in the beats and the shouting of the crowd. The wash of bright colored lights over our faces and the deep shadows of night. When I tell him that I need some air, he follows me out into the street, our breaths making steamy clouds in the cool night. Peeta stands behind me and wraps his arms around me, resting his cheek on my shoulder, his nose just touching my neck.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“For this. All of it. You didn’t have to do any of it.”

“Yes, I did,” I say and he sighs.

“Then let me do something for you,” he says and lifts his head as I turn mine to look at him.

“You already have.” Unable to put into words what it is, I kiss him instead.

The kisses are slow and gentle, but there’s a surprising heat beneath them, almost a desperation and it strikes me then, how much I’m going to miss him in the coming months. Tomorrow when we land in Los Angeles, we’ll part ways again, for how long I don’t yet know.

Instead of sticking around for the band’s last set, we wind up back in the apartment, locking the door to our room and peeling off layers of clothes before we slide beneath the sheets and Peeta settles between my thighs. I wrap my arms around him and savor the long, loving kisses he bestows on me. They say that blue flames burn the hottest, and looking in his eyes, I believe it.

As he reaches for a condom, I place my hand on his wrist and stop him, guide his hand back beneath the sheets to wrap around himself.

“Are you sure, Katniss?” he whispers and I nod.

“I’m on a pill,” I say and struggle to get the rest of the words out, but I know what I want. “I want to feel you this time.”

He swallows and then shifts himself so he can see what he’s doing. He drags his tip through my swollen lips and I wait, impatient for him to fill me. He eases himself in and I wrap my legs around his hips, tightening my hold on him as he goes deeper. He rests his chest on mine and kisses me once we’re joined. I caress his cheeks and shift beneath him, adjusting to his girth and learning the feel of skin against my walls.

Peeta groans and his hand flexes on my thigh. “I have no words. You’re everything, Katniss,” he whispers right before he shifts his hands to cradle my head and begins to move, rolling his entire body over me like a wave on the ocean.

I feel enveloped in his warmth and love, filled with him. We start slow with gentle kisses and caresses, but it soon becomes apparent that we both want more. Need more. I hold tight to his shoulders as his thrusts gain force and the bed begins to rock with us. I bury my face in his neck and inhale his scent. He does the same, only he’s whispering scattered words about how perfect I feel and how amazing the past few weeks have been. How empty his bed will feel back home without me in it.

All I can manage is a few gasps of “Peeta” and “Close” and “Almost” as he begs me to come and let him feel it on his cock. His hand clenches into a fist in my hair and the twinges of pain in my scalp combine with coiled want and burst to light inside me. I lay there and stifle my ragged moans in his skin.

“Yes,” Peeta gasps loudly and pauses in his thrusts, rocking his hips gently as my walls flutter madly over him.

He comes to rest, his weight a heavy blanket over me and his lips spreading frenzied kisses on my skin until he softens and I can feel the evidence of our coupling on my thighs. With a deep breath, he rolls off to the side, but he immediately pulls me close. I lay there, my fingers dancing over the arm he’s draped across my stomach, thinking about the months ahead again.

When I turn my head to face him, he’s mid-yawn. He shudders at the end of it and opens his eyes to look at me. It didn’t take him long to work his way back under my skin and plant roots there. A mere handful of months.

“Before you fall asleep, I want you to know that having you here has meant everything to me, Katniss,” he says and I smile slightly.

“Couldn’t tell,” I mumble. “You’ve been cool as a cucumber out there on the slopes.”

“I only manage to make it look like I am because of you,” he says. I scoff and try to stay awake, but I can’t. Right before I slip away into dreams, I feel him bathing me with a warm cloth and soft kisses over my legs.

Somewhere in the night, noises I can’t place and Peeta slipping from the bed wake me before I’m ready. I grumble and turn over, hugging one of the pillows to my chest and trying to recapture my sleep. Then there are voices rising up from a murmur to something more insistent. I’m awake in an instant.

“At least put on a damn shirt when you come out here for a drink,” Haymitch says.

Peeta mumbles what I think is an apology and Haymitch sighs, the sound loud and exaggerated.

“I like you, kid,” Haymitch continues. “You’re both adults and I can’t tell her what to do, much as it pains me to know that my girl is knocking boots with anyone. Might not be her blood father, but I stepped in and raised her. Yeah it was only two years before she became an adult, and she’d probably tell me to fuck off if she heard this conversation, but I am responsible for her.”

“I’ll um, keep that in mind,” Peeta says, clearly trying to get out of an awkward situation.

“Not done yet, Cupcake. I think you’re good for each other, and it’s plain as day you both care about one another, but even I’ve got my limits.”

“I can understand that.”

“Then a smart kid like you can probably figure out what I’m gonna say next. Don’t hurt her.” Haymitch emphasizes the last three words to the point that they almost sound like a threat. There’s a long silence and my shoulders grow tense.

“I hadn’t planned on--”

“I know you don’t plan on it, Cupcake. If I thought you were using her or planning on hurting her, I wouldn’t have kept my silence this long. It’s the shit you haven’t planned on that worries me. That’s what tripped you both up before.” My fingers dig into the pillow and my breath catches for a moment.

Ground. Sky. Silence. His mother. My parents.

It flashes by so fast I don’t register half of it other than the familiar stab of pain in my chest and then the hollow ache. Will it ever not hurt when it catches me by surprise?

“We were fifteen,” Peeta whispers and Haymitch scoffs.

“Don’t give me excuses. That won’t work anymore. No it wasn’t all your fault then, but you can’t live in a bubble. The world’s gonna want in. Now you’re twenty-five. Still pretty young, kid. The good news is that means you’ve got time. Maybe. Bad news is it still makes you both reckless and sometimes dumb. I’d like some reassurances that I won’t be mopping up the pieces again if this whole thing turns sour. Like I said, I like you. Quite a bit, actually. But I wouldn’t count on that making me lenient or forgiving if you destroy her.”

“I’m not gonna screw it up this time.”

“And it’s not gonna be an easy road with the two of you here and there all over the place and rarely together.”

“I know that.”

“What about all the hullabaloo that’ll hit with the Olympics? People are gonna be in a frenzy wanting to know about the two of you.”

“I don’t think--”

“Plus your brother’s got a reputation as a player. Everything from concrete evidence to rumor ties him to half a dozen models, a handful of actresses, any number of fellow athletes--”

“That’s my brother, not me.”

“Fame might go right to your head, kid. And with your last name, it’s been a long time coming. It’ll be unavoidable.”

“No one’s gonna care about me like that. And even if they do, I won’t be interested in them.”

“That’s a heck of a promise to make. How do you plan on keeping--”

“Because I’m in love with her!”

The words come out in a rush and the charged silence that follows tells me that Peeta hadn’t planned on saying that at all. The next, shocked word that he utters confirms it.

“Shit.”

“Does Katniss know that?”

“I...no. I haven’t...haven't told her yet.”

“You just figure it out for yourself this second?”

“No,” Peeta mutters. “I’ve known it for awhile now.”

“Then ‘shit’ is a good response.” There’s a dull thud, but I don’t move to see what the sound is. My neck prickles with awareness. Someone is watching me. Maybe both of them. “Think maybe you oughta tell her?”

“Yeah, I just…don’t know how.”

“Seemed pretty easy just now. Are you scared or something?”

“Terrified,” Peeta whispers harshly. “I’m afraid of losing her again more than anything else. And if you’re right...she hates the spotlight. I don’t want to drag her into that just because of my family.”

My ears strain to hear the words. They fill me with a warmth unlike any I’ve known before.

“Good,” Haymitch says. “You should be scared of losing her. Maybe that’ll make you work hard enough to convince her to stay.”

“Only if she wants to stay,” Peeta says, and he sounds so torn that my chest aches. Haymitch’s response is too faint, muffled by his footsteps as he leaves. But I’ve heard enough.

I keep my eyes shut as Peeta climbs back into bed. He moves around for a bit, getting settled. I can feel his warmth close to my back and I control my breathing, waiting to see what he’ll do next. He hesitates for a moment and then curls himself around me, embracing me but careful not to disturb me. His lips feather kisses over my cheek and he takes a shaky breath before releasing it. I fight every instinct to turn around and kiss him right this second. To reveal that I am awake and what I overheard. Because I want him to say it to me without coercion or manipulation. I want him to say it because he wants to, not because he was surprised or badgered into admitting it.

Peeta’s in love with me.

I let the words sink into my bones and feel my heart soar with the certainty. It’s one thing to suspect it based on looks, touches, even actions. It’s another thing entirely to hear it declared in emphatic and unwavering tones, albeit to Haymitch not me. But that’s okay. Because now I know, and no one can make me forget it this time. I won’t let them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For today's author notes, an updated timeline! Because yeah yeah, I know it's hard to keep track with all the friggin' flashbacks.
> 
> 1964 - Eirik Tjaland wins gold in Nordic Combined at the Olympics in Innsbruck  
> 1979 - Agnes Tjaland is injured (19 years old) and misses out on the Lake Placid Olympics  
> 1981 - Agnes Tjaland marries Bram Mellark  
> 1982 - Graham Mellark born  
> 1989 - Ryen Mellark born  
> 1992 - Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen born  
> 1996 - Primrose Everdeen born  
> 1997 - Katniss invites Peeta to help with ski lessons (CH3 Flashback)  
> 2004 - October. Peeta lands his first 720, he and Katniss talk switching sports (CH4 Flashback)  
> 2004 - December. Peeta switches to snowboarding, Katniss runs her first biathlon race (CH5 Flashback)  
> 2006 - February. Winter Olympics held in Turin, Italy. Graham earns bronze. (CH 6 Flashback set in May reflects on this)  
> 2006 - December. Peeta gets in a fight, Everlark dreams of gold & learns Agnes’ story (CH 7 Flashback)  
> 2007 - May. Katniss and Peeta share a first kiss (CH 8 Flashback)  
> 2007 - June. Everlark falls, Peeta’s leg is amputated (CH 9 Flashback)  
> 2007 - June. Katniss’ parents die four days later. Mrs Mellark is a @#&*(^%# on steroids (CH 10 Flashback)  
> 2007 - June. Katniss and Prim go to live with their Aunt Matilda and Uncle David. It sucks. (CH 11 & 12 Flashbacks)  
> 2008 - Summer leading into Autumn: Haymitch files for and becomes Katniss and Prim’s guardian. (CH 13 Flashback)  
> 2008 - Late Autumn: The girls move to New Mexico with him (CH 13 Flashback)  
> 2008 - Winter: Bram Mellark hears Agnes berating Peeta, Cinna and Portia hired to remove her parental rights. NOTE: Ryen and Graham are both over 18 at this point, so they made the choice to remove Agnes from their lives on their own.  
> 2009 - January. Peeta’s first successful snowboard ride with his prosthesis. (CH 16 Flashback)  
> 2009 - November. Katniss returns to competing in biathlon (CH 14 Flashback)  
> 2010 - Winter Olympics in held Vancouver, Canada (Gold for Graham in Nordic Combined, Silver & Bronze for Ryen in Downhill and Combined event respectively)  
> 2010 - Summer: Katniss moves to C-Springs, starts working at the country club, meets Gale (CH 17 Flashback)  
> 2010 - Autumn: Peeta starts at San Diego State University  
> 2011 - May. Peeta gets in trouble for his slipping grades (CH 18 Flashback)


	19. A Mixed Result

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know there is a character limit for the author notes? I did not. I found out the hard way, which is why the word count for this chapter is deceptive. Around 1100 of these words are a big a** author’s note at the end, in the body of the story. I put a bunch of information on how biathlon competitions work there if you care to read up before consuming this chapter. I tried to write the chapter in a way that you’ll still get the idea even if you don’t read the bottom note first. Mostly it’s for those who are curious, but also I want you all to see just how much friggin planning and research went into this story.
> 
> Psssst...it’s a lot. I probably did far more than necessary but better that than looking like a total idiot. I might look like one anyway. Crap.

_She keeps an eye on the weather, anticipating the first snow of the season. She needs to get back on her skis. Back on the trails before her skills atrophy beyond repair. She’s been shooting all summer, at least. But money has been tight and she’s worked extra shifts to help cover the difference, cutting into her training time._

_“You are one distracted lady,” Gale says as they finish cleaning up the range. “Where do you disappear to?”_

_“Another dimension where you know when people don’t feel like talking,” Katniss says and he laughs._

_“People eat in this other dimension?”_

_“Of course they do,” she says and he locks the towers._

_“I asked if you’d wanna join some of us for a bite.”_

_“Not tonight. I don’t like crowds”_

_“What if it were just me?”_

_“No thanks.”_

_When the snows arrive, she leaves for Europe. Her passport tucked in her back pocket and a shawl Sae’s daughter brings up from New Mexico, “for luck,” tucked in her book bag._

_Katniss skis. Shoots. Eats. Sleeps. Repeats. In between, she calls Prim. Watches her bank account with obsession. Finds a job she can do on the road to bring in more cash._

_In the spring, she returns to the country club and Gale walks up to her on her first day back. “I hear you’re some kind of athlete.”_

_“You can’t believe everything you hear.”_

_“It’s like you don’t even exist outside of summer. So what’s your sport?”_

_“Biathlon.”_

_“No shit. What are you doing for dinner today?”_

_“I haven’t seen much of my little sister since November,” Katniss says firmly._

_“You’ve got a sister? Didn’t know that.”_

_“Didn’t ask,” she says and walks around him towards the ranges._

_“So I have to ask to learn anything about you?”_

_“You can ask. I might not answer.”_

_Their boss pairs them together to cover a group one day. They actually work well together. He’s not any more chatty than he needs to be, focused on the shooters. She appreciates that. When the day is done, he asks Jones to set up the targets for them._

_“Let’s see what you’ve got, Catnip.”_

_She loses herself in the shooting and barely notices Gale until Jones whistles and hands them their score cards._

_“She kicked your ass, Gale,” he says. Gale’s lips curl up and he shrugs._

_“That means lunch is on me tomorrow.”_

_She pauses. And then nods once._

_“Fine.”_

_They eat lunch together in the shade of a poplar tree, near the pond. They don’t speak._

_The next day, he tells her about his own sister, Posy, and her obsession with animals, how she wants to be a vet one day. It makes Katniss think of Prim. Another day he tells her about his brother Vick and how he’s always in the library, scouring through history books. When her car battery gives out one day, Gale straps her car to his truck and drags her to a mechanic shop. A boy who looks just like Gale only a few years younger greets them and Gale introduces his brother, Rory._

_Rory uses a rag to wipe oil and grease off his hand and shakes hers with an affable smile before he fixes her car._

_“How much?” she asks Rory when it’s done and he shrugs then saunters off, leaving her scowling at Gale, confused._

_“I’ll tell you the cost after dinner.”_

_Dinner’s not so bad._

_He’s not so bad now that she’s worked with him a little more. She still thinks he can be a smug jerk, but guesses it’s all part of the job. Dealing with the rich and arrogant on a daily basis can do that to you. He talks all the time when they’re not working, mostly about the assholes they deal with at work. She doesn’t see the point in raging over it. It won’t change a thing. But better to let him vent to her than to someone who might care about the things he says._

_Sometimes he talks about his other job fixing cars at the same garage he took her to, sometimes about his family. His vintage Indian motorcycle that he’s rebuilding with plans to change the paint scheme to make it reflect his tribe’s heritage._

_The summer heat fades and the soles of her feet itch, ready to get back to work. She trains in her off time, but wet turf and machines can only do so much. There’s no substitute for the slide of real snow beneath her skis. She’s got a season to focus on, competitions to win._

_That year, they say she skis like a person possessed. Missed shots mean little in terms of penalties when someone flies like they’re running from the devil. The Girl on Fire, they call her._

_She’s out with Prim one day, fresh off her best season yet, whispers of moving her up to the next tier send a thrill through her that she quells. No point getting excited until it happens. Prim begs her for milkshakes and they sit in the cool spring air, regretting the milkshakes and wishing they’d gone for tea or coffee instead._

_“Hey, Catnip!” Gale shouts and she turns to see him waving from the mechanic’s shop across the way, a pair of dirty coveralls half unzipped, the sleeves tied around his waist. “Thought that was you! Finished your winter hibernation?”_

_“You finished your grease bath?”_

_He laughs and Prim elbows her as he checks the cars before jogging across the street to them._

_“This must be your sister,” he says with a smile. The one that makes him handsome. Makes him look like someone she could be friends with. Maybe they are friends._

_Summer brings Plutarch and his fat tips. Days eating lunch with Gale beneath the poplar tree. Afternoons shooting. They rake in larger tips together and their boss starts giving all the big groups to them._

_As summer fades, she watches him grow angrier and more frustrated. His dad’s health is failing. It makes him work harder. During their down time, Katniss let’s him talk, unload all his worries and fears. He disappears for a week in early autumn and when he returns, she somehow knows without him saying it. She knows that look in his eyes._

_His dad is gone._

_This time, she asks him. He’s silent while they eat dinner. She thinks about picking up his tab, but in the end decides against it. He wouldn’t want her help. They climb into his truck and it sputters but starts eventually. Gale smacks the dashboard and Katniss stares out the window, watching the buildings pass by._

_“Hey, that was the turn back to the club...where we left my car?” she says as they blaze past it._

_“I just...need to drive for awhile.”_

_“Okay,” she says with a shrug. Better to let him blow off steam by driving in circles than to send him home angry. That’s not what his family needs right now. From what he’s told her, she knows that his paycheck, along with his mother’s, is what’s kept their family alive. She’s met them all now. The Hawthornes. They’re nice. A large, loving family that supports each other._

_They leave the city behind and enter the darkened woods at the foot of the mountains. Rocks tower up in steep cliffs on either side of them. She rolls down her window to let the cool autumn air clear her mind. To hear the gurgle of the river and the waterfalls as they pass them by._

_“Shit,” Gale curses as the truck lurches and sputters again. “Fuck!”_

_He manages to pull it over to the side and the hood creaks as he lifts it. Katniss sits there, waiting while he tinkers with it. With another curse, he slams the hood._

_“I can fix it once I get home, but I can’t afford a tow truck right now. Not on top of everything else,” he mutters and searches the glove box for his phone. He speaks in clipped tones with his brother and paces alongside the truck, turns to her when he hangs up. “Rory will be here in a bit with Dad’s truck to tow us back in. Good thing I didn’t sell it yet.”_

_A bit? They’re about forty minutes into nowhere._

_Gale climbs into the truck and sits with his eyes closed. The silence presses in on them. So Katniss talks this time. A little. She tells him about Prim and how she feels responsible since their parents died. She doesn’t tell him how. He doesn’t ask._

_She mentions the season she has coming up. She’s leaving in two days, and before she can start talking about that in depth, his lips are on hers. She freezes and sits there. Not sure how she feels about him kissing her. His fingers trail up and down her neck._

_“I’ve wanted to know for awhile.”_

_“Know what?” she whispers, frightened and confused._

_Instead of answering, he kisses her again. She closes her eyes and lets him. No one’s kissed her in years. She’s forgotten what it felt like. Forgotten the zing of electricity in her gut. The quiver of breath right before he deepens the kiss. The way it can make you feel alive inside, if only for a moment._

_“If you felt it, too,” he whispers and tugs her shirt free of her pants._

_She lets him lay her out across the bench seat of his truck. Lets him kiss her body, her eyes squeezed shut and focused on the feelings. She lets him undress her, touch her, needing the feeling of being wanted that he provides in this moment. She strives for the end, but it’s just out of her reach. Then she lets him slide between her folds, flinching when it hurts a little and the cold latex over his warm skin surprises her. She wraps her legs around him when it starts to feel good. She stares up at the autumn stars through the open window as he whispers to her and the truck rocks with their movements._

_They manage to get themselves put back together before his brother arrives. They’re silent as Rory tows them back into town. She wonders what effect this will have on their rapport at work next summer._

_Before she can figure it all out, Katniss packs her bags and her skis, climbs aboard a plane to Europe. She’s starting in the middle league this year, although it was grudgingly done. They wanted to move Bristel up. Katniss’ scores were consistently better. No more Juniors for her. Now she needs to show them that she belongs. That she’s not a risk._

* * *

 

Autumn arrives in Colorado, bringing with it the pungent scent of summer’s death. The change of season ushers in a flurry of activity. Travel plans finalized for the rest of the year. Crammed in bits of work to plump up the bank account. Training. Always training.

Before I realize what’s happened, September and October vanish. The first few dustings of snows arrive then melt. Prim and I carve pumpkins for Halloween and pass out candy to the bundled up neighbors’ children.

Then, just as quick as it came, autumn leaves. The heavy snows hasten its departure, accumulating slowly at first and then in piles that hide cars and shorten trees. I take to the mountains as soon as I can, remembering the slide of snow beneath my skis and the puff of cold air in my lungs, storing it away for the long winter of competitions ahead of me.

As busy as I keep myself, as tired as I am when I fall into bed, nothing keeps the nightmares away. They mix together and haze over until I can’t tell one from the next. All I know is that the pressure, the expectations, fall on top of me in layers as thick and impenetrable as the snow pack outside. I hate the waiting. It would be easier to deal with if the season would just start.

The nights are long. Grow longer with each passing day. And lonely.

Then one day in the middle of November, I find myself wrapped in a blanket, leaning against the railing outside our apartment, smiling and well rested for once, my hand extended and catching snowflakes. In just a few days, I’ll be headed to Sweden for my first competition of the season. It’ll be a long haul. Three competitions in three countries, each with at least two events, all in the span of one month. I feel like I’ve existed almost in a cloud since I went back to Skadi, floating across the sky, and now I’m headed straight for a mountain thunderstorm -- turbulent and wild. The kind that washes out the path before you.

Prim joins me, standing on the lower bar of the railing and craning her neck to catch the flakes on her tongue. She giggles and then steps down, bumping her shoulder into mine to get me to share the blanket with her. I extend my arm and we huddle together with the wool wrapped around us. My toes grow cold as we watch the snow thicken on the ground.

“You okay?” she asks me after several minutes of silence.

“Yeah,” I say with a nod, but Prim can tell that I’m holding back. I see the accusation in the tilt of her head. “Okay, maybe I’m a little worried about the season.”

“You are going to kick ass this season, Katniss,” Prim assures me. “It’s your year.”

“How can you be so positive?” I ask and turn to her. She shrugs.

“Because I just feel it.” I make a face at her, letting her know exactly what I think of that statement. “Besides, once you decide to do something, nothing gets in your way.”

“I don’t know, Prim. This is different.”

“Not really,” she argues. “You sleep. You eat. You ski. You shoot. You call your boyfriend and your sister in between. You do it all again. And then, you do it for an Olympic medal.”

She says the last part in such a dreamy voice that I can’t help but laugh a little. The snow builds, adding to the beauty of the morning. I wonder if the ground ever feels the snow. Does it know the force and pressure piled upon its shoulders?

“You’re still worried.”

I nod and she leans her head on my shoulder, although she has to bend her knees to do it now, she’s grown so tall. And beautiful, like our mother. I rest my cheek on Prim’s hair and in this moment, I miss my mother in a way I haven’t allowed myself. I miss the determination tempered with kindness. The force of wind that could bite or soothe. The mother who held my hand while I cried and helped me find the way forward around my fears. I search for the words to explain what frightens me. The visions that visit me in the night.

“Everything’s going so well right now,” I say and she hums, encouraging me to keep going. “I’m afraid...afraid that it’ll all vanish. And there won’t be a thing I can do about it.”

“You can’t let that stop you,” Prim says.

“I know, but I don’t know if I can handle it if it does again. Vanish, I mean.”

“Then maybe you should enjoy it while it’s here,” she says and lifts her head to smile at me. “Which leads me to what I meant to ask you when I first came out here. Why are you out here freezing your toes and not snuggling for warmth with the hot blonde in your bed?”

“He’s jet lagged, Prim.”

“He’s also been missing you.” I stare down at the ground and nod.

We haven’t seen each other in person since New Zealand, just over two months ago.  I’ve had training and work and Prim filling my days to overwhelming. With the winter season barreling down the pike, Peeta found himself swamped with work. Skadi and Gramps need him. There was a slew of orders for his skis and boards, last minute purchases in preparation for the ski season. Somehow he managed to squeeze training into his schedule so his skills didn’t deteriorate before his second and then his third competition, in China and then the Netherlands.

Just like he did in New Zealand, Peeta did well, finishing somewhere in the middle of the pack. All things considered, it’s a really good start for him. If he can keep it up, the consistency will help his case for being included on the paralympic team. Now we’re just a few short days from the start of my season.

But after how much time we spent around one another during those two weeks on the other side of the world, the deprivation these past two months has been jarring. Short phone calls, hasty texts, conversations started and then not finished until hours later because one or both of us are busy or because of the time differences. There’s been no leisure for confessions of love. And it’s a mere taste of what’s to come.

Then he called me from an airport somewhere in Europe, asking if it was alright for him to change his flight so that the last leg brought him here instead of taking him back to Wyoming.

“I couldn’t go another day without seeing you, holding you. Missed you so much,” he’d said between kisses as we tore at each other’s clothes late last night and tripped over his tossed aside duffle bag in our haste to get into my bed.

I can feel my body flushing with heat at the memories of last night. Jet lagged or not, Peeta made sure I was thoroughly satisfied before he flopped onto the bed with a smile on his face and promptly fell asleep. Even if he hadn’t, even if we had just held each other and slept, I wouldn’t have complained. Waking up with him beside me this morning felt like such a luxury after so many nights without him.

It’s just a short reprieve, but Prim is right. I should be storing up the moments with him to keep me warm during future nights without him. I already know how lonely those will be.

Prim bumps her hip into mine and then pulls some sort of magic, spinning me out of the blanket and towards our front door. She somehow keeps the blanket around herself, still standing at the railing. “Go get ‘im, Kat.”

I shake my head at her and make my way through our apartment, stepping over Peeta’s duffle bag and boards to climb back into bed beside him. He groans as I press my chilled body close to his warm one, but he rolls enough to wrap his arms around me. I wish I could have gone with him this time, to see him compete again, but the dates just didn’t line up. I would have been making multiple trips across the pond, close together, needlessly tiring myself. Going with him so close to the start of my own season could have been detrimental to my own training and preparations.

“Where’d you go?” Peeta asks as he wakes, kissing a soft path over my cheek.

“Outside to watch the snowfall.”

“That explains why you’re so co--Ah!” he shouts as I slip my hands inside his shorts.

“So cold?” I tease and then laugh as he wrangles me onto my back, my arms stretched above my head, pinned in place by one broad, warm hand.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he promises in low tones with dark, hooded eyes that melt me faster than a sauna would. And while the words and tone suggest danger, no one else has made me feel this safe.

“Oh no,” I say in a warble and laugh at his exasperated expression. It’s not very convincing because he’s trying not to smile. “Whatever will I do?”

Apparently, I’ll grip the headboard like he tells me to and hold on, muffling the sounds I make in my arms so Prim doesn’t hear me. Then apparently I’ll beg for him to let me come and leave bite marks on his shoulder and lose all control of my limbs when he finally does.

We manage a few days of relaxed bliss before Peeta returns to Wyoming. While he’s here, I share my life in Colorado with him. I worry about him. He’s got a fast turn around to make it back to Finland for his next competition, but he insists that the break between is long enough that he’d rather spend it at home with Gramps, taking care of business and family, instead of jetting around Europe for two weeks.

In the days leading up to my departure, I acknowledge that some of my fear about this season stems from the many things about it that differ from the last. And not just because the Olympics loom near the end of it or the expectations that automatically come with that. So often in previous seasons, I’d feel alone on the trail. Sure I had Haymitch along the way, but this year I feel like I’ve got Prim fully in my corner for the first time ever. She’s not a kid anymore and doesn’t need my protection. Now she’s almost like a friend, too. And I have Peeta.

But that just means I have more to lose this time.

I distract myself with less important things to keep the fear from overwhelming me. I may have set up a Twitter account back in New Zealand, but I don’t post a thing to it until Prim badgers me the day before I leave and I post a quick: _Headed to Sweden._ She rolls her eyes at my eloquence, so I add the appropriate flag emoji. And I sneer at her when all four of my followers like my post. Prim, Peeta, Ryen, and someone I don’t even know from Siesta Key, Florida.

My phone becomes my favorite accessory. Text messages become lifeblood. I text Prim and Peeta every stage of my journey. Send a picture of the Chicago skyline before I board my plane to Stockholm. Haymitch grumbles about legroom and I curl up to watch my window fill with the blue shades of the Atlantic and the sky. I fight back the strange feeling that I’m leaving the ones I love behind. I’m not. I know I’m not, but then why does it feel like I am? I wonder before I nod off to sleep.

The second my feet hit Swedish soil, my phone is in my hands. I don’t want to repeat the mistakes of the past.

**_On the other side_ **

I pocket my phone to focus on entry procedures and luggage, not expecting an answer from either of them just yet. It’s hours before dawn back home and time for lunch here. My head spins with the flurry of activity of our last flight and then the drive to the hotel. Sorting baggage and roommate assignments. There’s so much to remember. So much to take care of. I’ve only just let both Peeta and Prim know that I made it to my room when the door opens again and a tall, beautiful blonde half falls through, juggling a suitcase and ski cases. I hesitate for a moment and then hurry over to help.

“Oh thank you, Katniss,” Madge says with a soft smile.

“No problem,” I say and roll her suitcase over to the second bed while she deals with her skis and rifle.

“I guess we’re roomies for the season.” She huffs as she drops her bookbag on the floor and pushes her beanie off her head to look around at our room.

“Looks that way.” I shrug and sit on the edge of my bed, out of things to say.

Madge Undersee is new to the upper levels of biathlon competition this year. They moved her up so that we’d still have a four person relay team this season. She’ll be competing in the individual events as well. She’s got a hellacious season ahead of her, and it’s still undecided if she’ll be headed to Korea, but I guess that’s the rookie life. I vaguely knew her when I was still one level down with her, but we rarely interacted back then.

We fall into silence as we both unpack and I text with Prim now that she’s awake, answering her rapid fire questions about the flights, the room, and whether or not Swedish guys are hot. I roll my eyes at that one and send back an appropriate emoji to let her know what I think of her question.

 _I promise not to tell your sort of Norwegian hunk if you say “yes.” ;-) I’m really good at keeping secrets._ She teases and I shake my head, scoffing at her antics.

“Is this okay?” Madge asks, pulling me from my conversation. I look up at her and it takes me a moment to realize she’s asking about our skis and rifles being jammed up together in one spot in the small room. It’s only temporary anyways, until we have to check our equipment in for inspections.

“Yeah sure,” I say. There’s an awkward silence and I flip my phone over in my hands. “Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“Oh?” Madge asks and I debate how much to share with her. She seems nice enough. But I’ve had plenty of experience with people who seem nice enough on the surface at first and really aren’t. But then I think of Peeta and Prim and how easily they seem to make friends and fit in. If I’m honest, I’m a little jealous of their ability to do that. I’ll be rooming with Madge all season, so I might as well try to be nice.

“My sister,” I explain. “She was asking if Swedish boys are cute. She’s twenty-one and I think she’s a player in the making.”

“Well the guy who helped me get my bags in the car at the airport was pretty cute,” Madge says with a smile.

I nod and tell Prim that my roommate got cute guy luggage service at the airport while Madge heads into the bathroom.

_Sigh. Does your team need a personal trainer/healer/therapist? I happen to know one graduating in May._

**_I’m not gonna help you turn into an international playgirl_ **

_Judgmental much?_

**_Not at all. Just protective._ **

_Ugh. Stahp._

“Is she gonna be here for the races?” Madge asks and it takes me a moment to pick up the conversation thread.

“Oh, no. She’s still in college. Graduates in May.”

“Not an athlete?”

“No she fixes us when we break ourselves,” I say and Madge nods.

“That’s great. Always good to have a decent physical therapist in your contacts.”

We fall silent again and I pull out my laptop to see if any work came through for me while I was on the plane. Madge gets out a tablet and starts scrolling. Time passes. My phone pings here and there with texts from home, reminders from Haymitch about registration and prep tomorrow.

Neither of us tries to be quiet, shifting loudly and not stifling coughs. It’s better to fight through the exhaustion, go to bed early and sleep through the night, wake up mostly readjusted to the new time zone. But the lack of conversation grates on me and I get out my iPod to listen to some music. Eventually it’s dinner time. My stomach growls and when I stand to put my work away, Madge is already bundling up.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Madge says. “But I’m supposed to meet up with the other girls for dinner. You should come too. If you want to.”

“I guess so,” I say. I might as well. I need to eat anyways. She waits while I get my coat and boots on, and we head down the halls to the lobby.

“Hey girls!” Bonnie calls and waves. The others turn to greet Madge. I’m not sure if I’m imagining things, but all of them seem uncertain how to deal with me. Bristel narrows her eyes as we approach and Wiress stands abruptly from her chair. Maybe this was a mistake.

I hesitate and then Madge loops her arm through mine, forcing me to either go with her or make a scene in the hotel lobby.

As we approach, I notice that maybe it’s not as bad as I thought. Wiress fidgets a little and Bristel looks downright hostile at my inclusion, but Bonnie and our trainer, Twill, don’t seem put out by it.

“Did you all pick a restaurant yet?” Madge asks as we draw near.

“We did,” Bristel says. “But I’m not sure it’s going to be up to everyone’s standards.”

The comment is clearly aimed at me, but Madge surprisingly diffuses it.

“I’m sure it’ll be amazing. I’m so hungry after all that flying I could eat roadkill and call it gourmet. How about you, Katniss?” I meet her eyes and find an openness in her. A kindness that I’m not used to seeing in someone I’ll be competing against. It throws me off enough to answer honestly.

“Short layover,” I say. “I’ll take some hit by a Saab deer in a heartbeat.”

Wiress laughs nervously and Bonnie smiles. Twill picks up whatever conversation they were having before Madge and I arrived. Reminders for us. She keeps it up until we make it to the restaurant and Bonnie rolls her eyes.

“Can you not talk about training for one hour while we eat?”

“I can try,” Twill says.

We manage for a bit. Bonnie shares a story about someone trying to smuggle a ferret onto the flight from JFK to Amsterdam. Bristel almost snorts her drink out of her nose and Wiress tells us that her dog looks like a ferret before pulling out her phone to show us. When the others are done cooing over the pictures, Bristel tells us about her dog, a giant husky who apparently likes to sit in any box that comes to the house. Those pictures lead to Bonnie and Twill telling us about their two cats, Brutus and Julius and how they can’t coexist in the same room so they leave Brutus with Twill’s parents and Julius with Bonnie’s while they’re on the road.

“In hindsight, maybe not the best names to give them…”

“But we adopted them on March 15th!” Bonnie argues. When the laughter fades, Bristel turns to Madge.

“What about you, Madge? Any pets at home?”

“Do dust bunnies count?” she asks and Wiress laughs. “No pets.”

For some reason, I feel a twinge of sadness for Madge. She sounds almost lonely, but then she directs everyone’s attention to me.

“How about you, Katniss?”

I spin my glass and watch the water swirl, the bubbles fizzing and I shrug. “Not mine. My sister has a cat.”

“What’s her name?” Bonnie asks. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with all the eyes on me.

“His name is Buttercup,” I say and Madge nods at me with a smile. Encouraged I pull out my phone to show them. “And he is the ugliest, meanest cat in the world. But he loves Prim and I guess in a way protects her while I’m gone so I can’t hate him too much.”

“Oh my gosh, he’s a scrappy little guy,” Bonnie says as she looks at the picture of Prim and Buttercup before passing it along. Somehow we go from catfights to family and Madge once again remains fairly quiet while Bristel gushes about her boyfriend and complains about her father. Wiress mentions a good friend back home in Minnesota. Bonnie and Twill we all know are married, but they talk a little about their parents and siblings.

All the talk of missing people makes me think of Peeta and I stare into my glass and keep to myself until the conversation turns back to our upcoming races. Twill’s going over details for the relay when Bristel ruffles her hair and speaks up, reminding me why this was a bad idea.

“Does Katniss really need to be here for this? I’d hate to bore her with talk about races that have nothing to do with her.”

I keep my face stone cold as she blinks at me and an awkward silence falls over the table. Twill plunges onwards, but the damage is done.

I want to yell at Bristel that it’s not my fault. The powers that be and the biathlon team coaches decided to take me off relay this season, claiming that it was so I could focus on the individual events. Since I’m the highest ranked individual athlete at this table, I’m apparently our best shot for an Olympic medal this year.

I thought maybe some of them might resent me for it, and the way Bristel says it, I can tell she thinks I’m getting preferential treatment. They didn’t hand this to me. I had to work my way up just like they did. If anyone was handed their spot on this team, it was Madge, but she’s too nice for me to say that, and really, it was only a matter of time before they moved her up anyways. Wiress has talked about retiring for the past two seasons. Madge is the obvious replacement.

After that, I keep my mouth shut, finish my dinner and pay my bill. Madge and I walk side by side back to our hotel room, no words shared between us. Out of everyone here, she might be the only one who doesn’t resent my removal from the relay team, since it got her brought up to the upper echelons. I’m glad they put me rooming with her. Sharing with Bristel probably would have been a nightmare.

As soon as we’re back in our room, I pull out my phone and find a handful of text messages from Peeta. They make me relax and the tension from the awkward meal doesn’t feel quite so bad. I bite my lip and answer quick.

**_Sorry. Was out with the team for dinner._ **

I wait for a moment and then smile as the ellipses pop up.

_Soooo, what did you eat and on a scale of “gag me” to “we’re moving here for the food” how was it?_

**_Tasty but not Instagram worthy_ **

_Respectable._

_Any chance you’ve got wi-fi now?_

I glance up at Madge sprawled on her bed and paging through a magazine. She’s got her headphones in and is bouncing her foot, but I’d prefer not to have conversations with Peeta and an audience.

**_Yep. Just give me a second._ **

I stand and Madge’s head pops up, she tugs out an earbud as I slip my feet into some shoes.

“Phone home,” I say and she smiles.

“Your sister?”

“Uh...no. Not this time,” I say and then duck out before she can ask anymore. I find a quiet corner and sit on the floor, wait for the FaceTime app to connect and relax at the sight of Peeta’s smiling face.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says. “Good to see your eyes again.”

“You too,” I say, amazed at his ability to make me blush even after all this time. I can tell from the wall behind him that he’s in The Locker today. We catch up for a few minutes, but then Thom snares Peeta’s attention with a pressing issue. Once that’s dealt with, it’s someone else needing him. Eventually, Peeta gets exasperated with the multiple interruptions on his end.  

“It’s like they hold everything in and wait until I’m about to leave to deal with it. I think I need a _Do Not Disturb_ sign,” he says after the fifth interruption. “Or a door.”

“That could be useful. Especially on more stressful days,” I say and he pauses, one eyebrow quirking up. But before I can take this where my keyed up body wants to go, someone else pokes their head in, needing something from Peeta and he sighs before he apologizes to me. Again.

I bite my tongue to keep from yelling at the intruder that this is a phone call from fucking Sweden and they need to back away slowly before I lose it. I get that he’s taken on more responsibility with Gramps’ health being what it is right now, but this feels ridiculous. When Peeta’s done with them, he returns his focus to me and we actually manage to finish our conversation. He’s getting on a plane himself in a few days, headed to Finland.

“Be safe, okay?” I say when it comes up.

“I will. At least the time difference won’t be as bad while I’m there too,” he says with a smile.

“We’ll have to take advantage.”

“We will. You should get some sleep now, though.”

After we say our goodnights, I untangle myself from the uncomfortable sitting position and return to the room, grateful that Madge is already out cold, a sleeping mask over her eyes and her headphones still on. She left one of the lamps on for me, and I warm a little at the sign of thoughtfulness before I shower and change into my pajamas.

Since I’m not part of the relays, I get a few days to adjust and prepare that the others don’t. Which now that I’m thinking about it, might be another part of why Bristel resents me. I’ll be fresh for the individual while the rest of them will have already competed in one event. It gives me an advantage.

That’s not my problem, though.

I focus in on what I need to do and try to banish all distractions. I’ve been here before and I can do this all day, every day. Ski and shoot. Ski and shoot. The morning of my first race, I wake to a message from Peeta. A voicemail that leaves me warm and fired up, ready to go. He must have called before his practice runs in Finland because I can hear Lyme shouting at Ansel about oversleeping in the background.

When I make it to the venue, I block out the rest of the team, the other competitors. I slide in my earbuds and stand next to Haymitch, absorbing the rhythm and using it to steady my breath.

When it’s my turn to start, Haymitch takes the iPod and my coat without a word. I stare down at the hummingbirds on the tips of my skis and smile. I forgot to take a picture of them for Peeta. I’ll do it after.

The tones sound and I take off. It’s an endurance race. 15 kilometers of skiing and twenty targets waiting for my ammunition. Just me and the course. It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about traditional biathlon. I rely on no one. Not really. There’s no one to let me down. No one for me to disappoint except myself. I can’t control what the others do. Only what I do.

And today, I do pretty well. When I cross the finish line, Haymitch is waiting. He drapes a coat over my shoulder and hands me water while I pant and glide to a halt next to Twill.

“Good start, Everdeen. Let’s keep that up,” Twill says.

The scoreboard is still a mess of flashing numbers and shuffling positions as more of us cross the line and penalties are assessed. I start in tenth when I first look then slide down to twelfth as they add the requisite time for my two missed shots. As the race progresses, I watch my name slip lower and lower. Until finally, it stops at twenty-fifth.

Haymitch claps me on the back. “Nice shooting, sweetheart. I want zeros for the sprint, got it?”

Madge skis across and her name is added somewhere below mine.

“Clean shooting, Undersee!” Twill calls as Madge stops, her shoulders heaving and her cheeks pink. “You’ve got the sprint in two days and those five missed shots would’ve cost you a spot in the pursuit if this were the sprint!”

Madge sighs and plops down next to me, her legs shaking. “Got it. Clean shooting.”

I reach over and push her forward between her knees. She groans and grabs the sides of her head.

“Don’t take it too hard. That’s Twill’s way of making sure you don’t slack off but try harder. You did amazing for your first big league individual.”

“Where’d you finish on your first one? When you started up here?” Madge asks as I rub her back awkwardly.

“Sixty-fifth,” I tell her.

“Really? Okay, seventieth doesn’t look so bad now,” Madge huffs and sits up to drink from her own water bottle.

“Finished 89th at the one after that, though,” I say and she looks at me oddly. I shrug. “I put so much into the first set of races that I didn’t have as much to give for the second.”

“So any tips? To help me not do that?”

“Food and sleep might help. We’ll get both tonight.”

“Thanks,” Madge says and thinks for a moment before asking me. “How’d you do today?” She looks up at the board and grins at the same time I tell her. “Awesome! Oh! I know! There’s a massage place not far from the hotel. We should do that tonight!”

I don’t much like the idea of someone’s hands on me like that, but Madge looks so excited and I’m not used to having a friend on the road. I glance up at Haymitch. He’s the closest thing I’ve got to a friend here, and really, he’s more like a father. So I agree.

As we’re leaving, I grab Madge’s arm as I remember.

“Wait. Can you take a picture of me with my skis?”

“Sure,” she says and takes my phone after I open it up for her to use. “Is this for your sister?”

I hesitate for a second and then shake my head. “Well, she’ll see it, but it’s for someone else.”

I make sure my hummingbirds are visible and Madge snaps the picture. “Nice one. They really are beautiful skis. I don’t remember you using anything like them before.”

“They’re new,” I tell her.

Back in our room, I let her shower first and send the picture to both Peeta and Prim.

 _How were they?_ He responds almost right away, before I can finish my Tweet with the pictures.

**_25th_ **

_That’s great! Sprint in two days?_

**_That’s right_ **

_Kick some tail_

**_I will_ **

I fire off a few more to tell him my plans for the evening. He tells me to have good time and he’ll talk to me later.

Madge turns out to be fun to hang out with. In a quiet sort of way. We talk mostly in facial expressions through the evening of food and massages before we collapse into bed. It’s nice not having to think of the right words. I try calling Peeta, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. I leave him a message to tell him that I’m headed to sleep and wishing him good luck tomorrow if I don’t hear from him in the morning. His races this time are head-to-head single eliminations and they only take sixteen in the bracket, so tomorrow while I’m resting, he’ll run the course to qualify for the actual race.

Haymitch and I use the morning for a quick workout and the afternoon to enjoy the area a little. I’m headed back to my room to warm up before meeting Madge and the girls for dinner when my phone buzzes. The picture takes a moment to load after I connect. I laugh when I see Peeta and a few of the other snowboarders, some from countries other than the USA, with their tongues hanging out.

_Snowed this morning. We were sampling Finnish flakes in between runs. Must have some good stuff in them._

**_You’re in?_ **

_8th best time. I’m in. :)_

**_So about the flakes… On a scale of “gag me” to “we’re moving here for the food”_ **

_I don’t want to move anywhere you aren’t_

I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve thought about moving back to Wyoming in a vague sort of way. Prim graduates in May and I have no idea where she’ll wind up. What I do know is that she won’t need me after that. She might not even need me now.

I’ve reached my room, though, and Madge is folding her clean laundry, so I type out a quick joke and hope he doesn’t take it poorly.

 **_I’ll have to sample Swedish flakes and let you know how they worked_ ** ****

That night, I toss and turn for a few hours before I’m finally able to sleep. When I wake, my arm is stretched out into the empty space beside me. For a moment, I’m disoriented. And then the wake up alarms start ringing.

It’s cold the day of the sprint. Bitterly cold. I find myself dancing to keep warm as I listen to my music and wait for my starting slot. Madge takes off right before me. I shake off everything and narrow my existence to what’s in front of me. When I cross the finish line, I check my time and nod in satisfaction. 38th today. Not great, but it gets me into the pursuit day after tomorrow.

“There’s a 2 up there next to your name,” Haymitch says, referring to the shots I missed and I glare at him before taking my water bottle from him.

After I take a seat, another skier drops next to me and holds her head in her hands, poles still wrapped around her wrists. It’s Madge and I glance up at the board. 93rd.

I hesitate and search for something to say. Anything.

“It’s a long season.” She makes a pathetic noise. “There’s over a hundred of us out there…”

Nothing. I scrape for something to connect with her and settle on the one thing so many of us share. The one thing I know cheers up every person I know. Food.

I pull out my phone and use some of my precious international data to answer an important question.

“Come on,” I tell her as soon as I have my answer. “We’re going to get showers and then we’re going out.”

“Shouldn’t we wait until it’s over?”

“There’s maybe five left out there. It’s about as over as it’s gonna get.”

“How’d you do?”

“Not important,” I say and drag her from the venue.

When we get there, we’re the only ones in the place and the woman behind the counter seems happy to see us. Madge and I fumble through translations, our Swedish is usually passable, but the woman keeps asking something I don’t understand until Madge pulls up some kind of translator app and then smiles.

“Oh! She wants pictures with us to put on their website.”

“Okay,” I say, a little leery. We smile and take the picture, then the woman shows us her website. I laugh as I see several well known cross country skiers and a bunch of biathlon skiers in this very shop. She adds us to her collection and then takes our orders.

Once we have our gelato, strawberry for her and dark chocolate for me, Madge and I settle at one of the tables. The woman hums while she sweeps the store and we eat.

“I’m glad you made the pursuit, Katniss. You deserve it,” Madge says and I freeze. There’s no malice in her eyes when I look up at her though. For some reason, I feel like I should apologize. “At least one of us made it.”

“None of the others did?” I ask. I hadn’t even bothered to check. She shakes her head. It’s not unheard of for only one of us to make it, but given the way Bristel looks like she’s ready to decapitate someone every time I get near her, this isn’t going to help my team relations.

My phone vibrates then, drawing both of our eyes to it. Peeta’s smiling face next to a text message simply saying:

_14th. Hope you fared better than me._

Madge glances up at me and blinks. “Sorry,” I say and pick up my phone to answer him. I feel almost guilty about his finish too, which makes even less sense.

**_38th_ **

Before I can remind him he’s got a second chance to do better tomorrow, his answer pops up on my phone.

_You’re in the first pursuit! That’s great! I’m so proud of you, Katniss._

_Good thing I didn’t put flames on the skis after all. You might’ve melted the snow. ;-)_

And then I remember that with Peeta, I’ve never been in a competition for points. I manage to get my reminder to keep his chin up tomorrow sent to him and then set my phone aside to find Madge watching me.

“Sister?” We both know it’s not.

“No,” I say and my phone vibrates again. I try not to look, try to hold Madge’s gaze because I feel like we’re reaching some sort of turning point in our roommate relationship. Her eyes dip to my phone first and her lips curl up in a knowing smile. I should have put the damn thing screen down.

I groan and grab my phone, cheeks burning as I read:

_Might help if I could see you tonight._

**_Cut the flattery. I’ll text when I’m back in the hotel._ **

_I like flattering you. Turns your cheeks an adorable shade of blush. Gonna make your next pair of skis in that color._

“Boyfriend?” Madge asks and I look up at her over my phone. I don’t know why I’m worried about telling her about Peeta. I don’t have to tell her everything. Just enough to get her off my back.

“Yes.”

She scoops out the last bit of her gelato and sets the bowl aside before eyeing mine. “Can you talk and eat at the same time?”

I shovel gelato into my mouth and cringe at the cold. Shudder as Madge laughs and then finally just shrug.

“Okay fine. He’s a snowboarder. Para snowboader. And he’s in Finland right now for races of his own.” I explain the format and field size and Madge winces.

“So he got knocked out really early today. Para snowboarding? Is that…”

“He had his right leg amputated when we were fifteen,” I say and Madge’s eyes round out. I focus in on finishing my gelato and am grateful when she doesn’t ask me more than that. I’m not sure I can handle it right now. I’ve got a pursuit to focus on, and Madge seems to sense my hesitance to say anymore than I already have.

“Well come on then, let’s get you back to the hotel so you can cheer him up,” she says and stands as I swallow my last bite, winding her scarf around her neck.

At the hotel, Madge leaves me with her phone number and heads to the lobby. “I think I saw a piano out there. Playing always makes me feel better. Just text me when you’re done, okay?”

“Okay,” I say and settle on my bed to talk to Peeta.

He looks tired and still hasn’t eaten dinner yet. I try to smile and reassure him. By the time he has to go, I’m not sure that I was able to help. I log into Twitter to distract myself and find some weird notifications. Madge somehow tagged me in a post. I didn’t even know she was on here, let alone following me. But sure enough:

_Found! Gelato in Ostersund, Sweden with @katnisseverdeen! If only biathlon awarded points for this!_

Below all her tags are two pictures. One is us with the shop owner and the other is of both our bowls before we devoured them. It’s gotten several likes and even a few retweets, including Wiress who added:

_Good hunting girls! Can we come next time?_

With an emoji licking its lips. I chuckle and follow Madge, surprised to find that Bonnie and Wiress are following me now too, along with @biathlonworld, the official IBU Twitter. Huh. It takes me a few minutes to scroll through my new followers, most of whom I don’t even know, and select the few that I want to follow back. It’s weird, but I shrug it off and retweet from Madge:

_Didn’t I tell you I am a part time dessert huntress @madgeunderskis9?_

Instead of texting Madge, I head out to the lobby and listen to her playing for a minute. She’s pretty good and the song weaves through me, hopeful but somehow melancholy. When she finishes, I wave and she joins me.

“How long have you played?”

“Oh since before I can even remember. My mom was a concert pianist and wanted me to follow her.” She shrugs as we walk back to our room. “I liked it but...I love this more.”

The day of Peeta’s second race, I hit up the gym and the practice range just to keep busy. Haymitch takes it easy on me, whether it’s because he doesn’t want me to overwork myself or because he knows my mind is elsewhere, I can’t be sure. But I keep my phone glued to my arm. I’m going half out of my mind and jump when my phone finally rings.

“Peeta?”

“Fifth.”

I squeal and he laughs. I hold up five fingers and mouth the word to tell Haymitch and he nods then wanders off, giving me some sort of privacy to talk with Peeta. I listen while he gives the highlights of the race and a hollow feeling creeps in on the joy. I missed it. It’s his best finish so far this season and I missed it. Maybe I wouldn’t hate missing it so much if we’d had those ten years. I don’t know. All I know is that my heart pounds with a strange mix of emotions that I can’t seem to sort out.

“Hey, I gotta go. We’re headed out to grab some food. You have time for Skype later?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” I tell him.

“Okay,” he says and then answers someone on his end. I can’t catch what he says or the other person’s response, but I catch his laughter as he returns his attention to me.

After dinner, Madge changes into workout clothes and tells me she’s headed to the weight room. I’m grateful for the privacy as I set up my laptop and text Peeta to let him know I’m ready. Within seconds, my laptop is ringing and his face fills my screen. His cheeks are pink and he’s smiling.

“Hey there fifth place. Moving up in the standings, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t looked yet. I’m not quite over it,” he says and his voice is shaking. It’s not like him. Peeta’s steady as a rock most of the time. “Really wish I could hold you right now.”

“So do I,” I say and his head drops forward as he takes a few deep breaths. “Have you told Gramps?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. I’m still not sure what he said to me. Used a few Norwegian words I don’t know and honestly, I’m not even sure he pronounced them right. Maybe I heard them wrong.”

“Whatever he said, it could only be good. So what’s next? Breckenridge, right?” I move to check the calendar on my phone but Peeta’s words stop me.

“No. Your pursuit is next.” As I look back up, he scrubs a hand over his face. “We should focus on getting you ready for that.”

“Okay, bossy,” I say, thrown by the way he sounds. Like the hard assed trainer I wanted to throttle back at Skadi. And also mount.

Desire jolts through me and I lean towards the screen, search for what I want to say.

“I think I’m about as ready as I’ll get. What I could use right now is a distraction.”

“Okay,” Peeta rubs his hand over the back of his head and yawns. “What did you have in mind? I saw you and Madge Undersee went gelato hunting.”

“We did,” I say, a little annoyed for reasons I can’t place.

“Something wrong? Looked like you were having fun.”

“Yeah. She was being too hard on herself for her first world cup level competition.”

“That was nice of you,” he says and I scoff.

“I wanted some gelato. Madge just gave me an excuse.”

“Sure Katniss, that’s what it was,” Peeta says and I scowl at him. What’s he mean by that anyways. “Had nothing to do with your inability to leave anyone close to you hurting.”

“I’m not close to Madge. I barely know her! Besides, the whole team hates me.”

“I’m sure they don’t hate you,” Peeta says and tilts his head.

“No, they hate me. Especially Bristel. Haymitch says it’s because I don’t work well with others.”

“You worked just fine with me. All that training we did together.”

“That’s different,” I argue. “I’m not competing against you. And you’re nice enough for both of us. How do you manage it anyways?”

“Manage what?”

“Getting along with people you compete against.”

“I guess we put it into boxes, you know? When it’s time to race, we give it our all. When the race is done, this is something we have in common. Something we share. It’s all timed or based on who crosses the line first, so it’s not like there’s a subjective element or room for favoritism. No artistic element.”

“There’s no artistic element in biathlon either,” I remind him.

“No but there is a team event. Makes it a little harder to compartmentalize.” I twist my braid between my fingers and think about what he said. It makes sense, I guess. “Katniss, you’re overthinking it. Just keep doing what you did with Madge. The rest will follow. You’re amazing and if you just let them see that, they’ll like you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because that’s it’s one of the first things I noticed about you, remember? The no nonsense way you invited me to ski with you and your dad in spite of my mother. How willing you were to share something special you had with your father with me just because you couldn’t stand to see someone unhappy. Made me like you right away.”

“You shared your crayons with me. I owed you for that,” I protest weakly. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he doesn’t believe me. He’s giving me too much credit. “Whatever, can we talk about something else?”

“If that’s what you want,” he says and shifts into telling me how his brothers are doing. I only hear half of what he’s saying, though, because I don’t really care. And while he talks, I get a little distracted by his mouth and the way his lips form words. For some reason that makes me think about kissing him, and before I know it, I’m fidgeting and feverish. Holding myself together and trying not to touch myself just out of view of the camera.

It’s been a few weeks since we saw each other in Colorado and for the past week I’ve been living with a roommate and haven’t had a lot of down time. Other than showers, there’s not much opportunity to take care of things. I wonder how much longer Madge will be. It’s only when I take a shaky breath and Peeta stops talking that I realize I’ve got my hand beneath my sweater, fingertips caressing over my belly the way he sometimes has. Those clever fingers that know all the ways to make me need him and then fulfill those needs.

“Katniss? Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” I croak, but my voice betrays me. Peeta’s lips curve up on one side and he leans towards the screen.

“Are you...aroused right now?” I consider lying but eventually nod and he curses. “Hold on. Be right back.”

He disappears and I hear the slide of extra door locks sliding into place. Of course. I scurry to my own door and do the same, hoping I won’t need them and Madge will stay away long enough. When I slip back onto my bed, Peeta’s waiting for me with a smile on his face.

“Were you touching yourself just a moment ago?”

“N-no,” I stutter and it only makes his grin wider.

“Maybe you should. Might help you relax.”

“I want you to touch me,” I whine and he nods.

“I want that too, Katniss. So much. But this’ll work for now. Just lay down and close your eyes.” It takes me a moment to get settled so that I can still see him but the more risque parts of me will be out of the picture. I know it’s just Peeta, but there’s always that fear over the internet that someone else is watching. “Comfortable? Good. Close your eyes and pretend it’s me.”

Closing my eyes, I nod and slide my hand back beneath my clothes and resume caressing over my skin.

“You are gorgeous. So beautiful, you have no idea how much time I devote to thinking about you, missing you. I love everything about you but god...Nothing in this world feels as good as your skin beneath my hands, Katniss. Touch everything I can’t but want to. Desperately. Imagine the real distance between us closing with each caress.”

With my eyes closed, I can almost convince myself that he’s whispering in my ear. Can almost feel the warm breeze of his words on my skin. He murmurs about all the places he wants to touch me, places so often overlooked. Short stretches of skin on my neck, soft patches in the crook of elbows. Earlobes, scalp, tracing over my eyebrows and lips then down my chest to my hips. My fingers follow the map he details and I wonder...How much of my body do I have to touch to make that distance disappear?

“And your legs. Fuck, I could write sonnets to just your legs. The way you wrap them around me when we’re together drives me absolutely mad with desire. I’m fucking throbbing just thinking about them.”

The awed sound of his voice makes me smile and open my eyes. His face fills the screen and at this point, I’m aroused enough that everything appears a little hazy. He seems much closer to me than he is. His eyes roam over what he can see of me and he licks his lips as I push my sweater up so he can see more of me. Peeta groans and shifts in his seat.

“Are you...can I see you?” I ask and he hesitates but then whips his shirt off over his head, one handed. I bite my lip and mewl a little. He pauses for a moment and then flattens both hands on his chest. “Yes,” I gasp. I want him doing the same as me. Touching every part of him that I wish I could and pretending it’s me. Only now we don’t look away from one another. He keeps talking about how perfect I am and all the kisses he wants to give me. But as his hands skim lower down his torso, I know that I need more and whine his name.

“Slide your hand inside your panties, Katniss. Touch your clit. Fucking touch it like you want me to lick it.” My body quakes, pent up with need and not quite able to make the last leap as he details his tongue and fingers on me. “Are you wet for me, Katniss?” I nod and a strangled noise squeaks past my lips when he orders me to fill myself with my fingers and fuck myself.

I grab hold of one breast and arch, my wrist aching as I obey. Eyes shut and his face etched in front of me. The sight of his eyes looking up at me from between my legs, an erotic image that never fails to get me close, lightning fast.

“I wanna hear you say my name, Katniss. I wanna know it’s me in your head.” His voice is strained and there’s something else. A wet noise that I can’t place until I turn my head and crack my eyes open to look at him. The muscles in his left arm bulge, completely rigid while the ones in his right pump and flex. His mouth hangs open and he’s flushed from the face down to the top of his chest.

Oh god. He’s jerking off with me.

And that sound. He must have used some lotion or lubricant or fuck I don’t know what it is except that it’s making me wetter and drives me closer, knowing that he’s taken this far enough to add something that would make it feel for him like he’s inside me.

“Peeta,” I gasp and his body shudders, his eyes shut for a second before he regains control. “Peeta, I want you inside me.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters. “Can you hear--?”

“Yes! I wanna come with your cock filling me.”

“Yes. Do it. Katniss, make yourself come for me.”

His eyes take on a determined gleam and he focuses back on me, detailing in salacious words what I feel like surrounding him and how close he feels to me when we’re joined. How we feel connected body and spirit. Demands for me to curl my fingers deep and fuck myself faster. Faster until I can’t feel a thing but his cock inside me and his balls slapping against me. And while he’s been talking, I’ve been climbing closer and closer to my peak until my hips buck wildly and my thighs clench, teeth digging into my lips.

I fly off the edge with his name a hoarse cry on my lips and my legs clamping around my hand. I can’t breathe while I’m suspended in flight. And just when I’m sure it’s going to start hurting, I fall back onto the bed and groan in relief.

When I’m still gasping but can at least open my eyes, I find Peeta hunched over the desk with his face buried in his crooked left arm. I can hear soft groans of pleasure and my name, his right arm still flexes in slow, long strokes. Bringing himself back down.

“Fuck I wish I could hold you right now. That’s the best part. Holding onto you after and knowing that you’ll still be there when my heart stops pounding. That it’s not a dream or a lie,” he says, words muffled by his arm before he lifts his head. His blue eyes, always so expressive, send warmth and love coursing through me. I roll over so I can face the screen fully and watch him recover.

I’m searching for an adequate answer when there’s a knock on the door at his end and Peeta swears. I laugh as we both scramble, Peeta assuring his roommate that he needs just a second.

“Katniss, I--”

“Go, Peeta. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well,” he says and blows me a kiss, smiling and rosy cheeked, eyes bright and happy.

I straighten up my room and indulge in a luxurious shower. I’m curled up in bed, drowsy and happy, when Madge returns. I left the lamp on for her, much like she did for me, but I’m asleep before she’s done with her own shower.

I wake refreshed and eager, making it to breakfast before Haymitch even. He rolls in, yawning and complaining about the coffee here. I ignore him and scarf down my food before bouncing out of my chair.

“You’re intolerably cheerful this morning. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” I say, but I must sell it too hard, because Haymitch eyes me for a moment before cursing under his breath. I catch the word “Cupcake” and something about the coffee not being strong enough for this. I smack my hands on the table in front of him and lean in.

“I’m relaxed and ready, Haymitch. Drink your shitty coffee and let the rest go.”

“I’m gonna need another one for the road if you’re not gonna stop blushing like a schoolgirl.”

“I’ll get it for you, Old Man. We’ve got a pursuit to crush and I’m not letting you make me late.”

The stands and the prep areas aren’t as packed today. With only sixty of us instead of 100, that happens naturally. Twill is there and we talk ski prep for a few minutes. When she heads off to double check the winds at the ranges, I look over at the stands, surprised to find Madge sitting there. She waves at me and then gives me a thumbs up. I return it and Haymitch looks over to squint.

“What’s with that?”

“I dunno. We’ve gotten along pretty well.”

“No shit.”

“You didn’t see my gelato tweet?”

“Don’t have time to police your every Tweet,” he says and we glare at each other for a moment before he smiles. It’s so disconcerting after how grouchy he was this morning and all his talk about editing my posts.

“You mean you’re actually treating me like an adult?”

“Gotta let you try it sometime,” he says and I smack his leg with my pole as he saunters off, whistling a jaunty tune. My phone vibrates then and I check it, smiling when I see:

_Shoot straight_

From Peeta. There’s cheering in the crowd and I look up in time to see the skier who placed first in the sprint ski away from the start. The pursuit has begun.

There’s nothing else like it in the skiing world. Fifty-nine skiers staggered behind the leader, all expending maximum effort to catch her. Your only break is your shooting bouts, but not even that is a true break. You still have to make your targets or ski extra penalty loops.

When it’s close to my start time, Twill and Haymitch stop by again. He takes my coat and iPod from me, squirts one last sip of water into my mouth while Twill details the winds on the range.

“They’re bad. Short gusts and lots of loose snow. Don’t get fancy. Just make your shots and then ski like hell. You’re rested and fast enough to catch at least a dozen of them, okay?”

“I nod and Haymitch claps me on the back. “Go get ‘em, Sweetheart.”

And I do. One at a time. Slow and steady, I pick them off, a few each lap. I throw everything I have into this course and by the end, I’ve only missed one shot. I have no idea how many others have missed and what that does to my position, but when I reach the last straight away, there’s at least two of them right in front of me.

I dig in and all I can hear are my skis and a roar in my ears that can’t possibly be the crowd. The corners of the world blacken in my eyes as I cross and shove myself through a few more strokes to clear the line. I manage to stop and turn to see the other two in the snow, right before my knees buckle.

Haymitch fills my vision as I lay on my back and I groan.

“You alive?”

“I better be,” I gasp. “If you’re greeting me in the afterlife, I’ve got a complaint to file.”

“She’s fine,” he says as he looks up and grins then looks down at me once more.

“So?” I ask.

“Sixth.” He shrugs as I gape at him. “So not too bad, all in all.”

“What? How?” That’s within reach of the podium.

“Nice shooting,” is all he says before helping me out of my skis.

I call Prim first and then Peeta, all while I’m still lying in snow, although Haymitch has dragged me off to the side. I’m pretty sure Peeta gets the attention of half of Finland with the way he shouts. But then he apologizes.

“I’m about to go through airport security. I gotta -- Katniss -- that’s incredible. Man I wish I could kiss you right now!”

There are tears in my eyes as we hang up and Haymitch pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. Madge finds us and helps me sit, bent over and still recovering as she rubs my back and murmurs about how incredible that was.

When I’m finally upright, my next visitor is a bit of a shock. Arnold Gloss, highest finishing biathlon athlete in America’s history and currently the president of the US Biathlon Association.

“Good job today, Everdeen. Looks like keeping you off relay was a smart choice. Let’s see more of that, yeah? Would hate to regret my support of you.”

And for some reason, his words and the cold look in his eyes deflates everything I’ve done here, all the joy in it.

Because it’s a reminder that all of these people suddenly behind me are people I could let down. Disappoint. Fail.

* * *

 

******************

**A/N:** First up, the flashback at the start of this chapter spans late summer of 2011 up to autumn of 2013. In terms of what Peeta’s doing during this flashback, he’s still in San Diego. We’ll get back to his past in the next chapter. ;-)

And now for my sad attempts at explaining the intricacies of biathlon competitions. For the purpose of brevity, all the distance numbers I give you will be for the women’s competitions because that’s what matters for this story.

Biathlon season consists of ten competitions over the period of November - March. There are seven biathlon events, but each competition will not feature all seven events. The competition Katniss is at in this chapter, in Sweden, had five events. For the ladies, it looks like there are in fact a little over 100 individual athletes in the field at the level Katniss would be skiing at, to give you an idea of how much competition she has.

Biathlon events vary based on starting format, total distance skied, number of shooting rounds, how penalties for missed shots are assessed, how shooting lanes are assigned, how much ammunition they are allotted, and how many skiers are on the course at one time. Each shooting round consists of five targets. Shooting prone means lying on your stomach. Targets can be at different distances and different sizes depending on the shooting position. Basic principle to remember for all biathlon events is ski-shoot-ski-shoot-ski and then repeat as needed.

NOTE: I am aware that the USA usually does not fare as well in biathlon as I have Katniss doing in this story. The sport pretty much belongs to Germany, Norway, Russia, Sweden, and France. That’s kind of why the summary says she has a chance, but it’s a slim one. Remember that field of over 100 athletes? Yeah… I’m gonna claim ultimate cosmic authorial power for this one, okay? Hopefully you all can forgive that. <3

We’ll start with the individual events.

15 km Individual: Also known as a “traditional biathlon.” Skiers start staggered, 30 seconds apart. Athletes ski 15 km over 5 laps (3 km each) with 4 shooting bouts (20 shots total, 1 shot per target) alternating positions prone - standing - prone - standing. Skiers pick their shooting lane as they arrive, no assigned lanes. A fixed time penalty will be added to the skier’s total time for each target missed, once they finish the course. Between the staggered start and fixed time penalty, no one knows who really won until all of them have crossed the finish line and penalties are assessed. If you see the board with times get shuffled all over the freaking place as athletes finish, you’re probably watching an individual race.

7.5 km Sprint: Skiers start staggered, 30 seconds apart. Athletes ski 7.5 km with 2 shooting bouts (5 targets from prone then 5 targets from standing, 1 shot per target). Skiers pick their shooting lane as they arrive, no assigned lanes. For each missed shot, skiers must ski an additional 150m penalty loop. Your time when you cross the finish line determines your place, so if you’re a really fast skier, you can still make up for missed shots.

10 km Pursuit: INSANITY! WHAT THE FREAK? Okay now that we have that out of the way… The field for Pursuit is limited to the top 60 competitors from the previous race. This is usually the Sprint, but sometimes the Individual. The first person to cross the finish line wins gold in Pursuit, second wins silver, and so on. Buuuut!... Your start order is determined by your finish time from the previous race. First place winner from yesterday starts first and the rest are staggered behind, based on where they finished yesterday, and are required to basically pursue (get it?) the leading athlete. Essentially, the better you did in the Sprint, the more of an advantage you have in the Pursuit. From there, athletes ski 10 km over 5 laps (2 km each) with four shooting bouts (20 targets total with one shot per target), one in between each lap. Shooting positions are prone - prone - standing - standing. Shooting lanes are given on a first come first serve basis. You go to the first shooting lane available. Each missed shot incurs a 150m penalty loop. Speed can be your best ally here.

12.5 km Mass Start: Okay so they literally all start at the same time...in mass. First to cross the finish line wins. Luckily, the field is limited to the top 30 athletes after the previous events so it’s not complete chaos but it’s still a little sporty. Athletes ski 12.5 km over 5 laps with four shooting bouts (20 targets, one shot per target) one bout between each lap. Shooting lanes are assigned based on your bib number for the first shooting bout, after that it’s 1st come 1st serve. For each missed shot, skiers must add on a 150m penalty lap. Basically, you miss your shots, you’re probably f*****.

And now for the team events…

Mixed Doubles Relay: The team for mixed doubles relay consists of two men and two women. The way this is usually denoted is 2x6 km + 2x7.5 km. The first two legs belong to the women on the team. They ski 6 km each with two shooting bouts each, one in each position (5 targets prone, 5 targets standing). The two men ski 7.5 km each with two shooting bouts each, one in each position (5 targets prone, then 5 targets standing) to make up the third and fourth leg. First skier for each of the teams all start in mass. There are usually 20 - 25 teams. First team to cross wins. For each missed shot, a skier must add on a 150m penalty loop, HOWEVER! Athletes are also allotted 3 loose rounds per shooting bout that must be hand loaded. In other words, if you miss a shot, you can instead take the time to hand load a round and make the shot, up to three missed targets per shooting bout. If you still miss, to the penalty loop with you. So it’s a risk and a time management act to use those extra rounds or not.

Mixed Singles Relay: Same as the Mixed Doubles only cut it in half. One lady skier, one male skier. She skis 6 km and shoots twice, he skis 7.5 km and shoots twice. Shooting bouts are five targets prone, then five targets standing. Rest of the rules are the same.

Team Relay: The team for this relay consists of four women and is often denoted as the 4X6 Relay. Each athlete skis 6 km and shoots twice (five targets prone, then five targets standing). Just like in the mixed relays, athletes are allotted 3 loose rounds per shooting bout that they can hand load to retake missed shots. Again, first skier for each team starts in mass, 150m penalty loop for each missed shot, and first team to cross wins.

For all relays, your shooting lane corresponds to your bib number for the first shooting bout and then it’s first come first serve after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scroll up for more information than you could ever want about biathlon.
> 
> A shout out to my sounding boards: Buttercupbadass and savvylark. You have both been so encouraging with this story and helped provide and inspire some of the small details that turned this from a half baked idea into something that even I feel is layered. In other words, I am literary potato without you two.


	20. A Surprise Finish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the word count for this chapter is deceptive. Around 1100 of these words are yet another big a** author’s note at the end. This time it’s about the governing bodies that Katniss and the Mellarks would be working with/competing under. My intention was actually to put this two chapters ago, but I was unaware of the character limit on author notes at the time. I got frustrated trying to crop it down and finally said “screw it, I’ll figure it out later.” That’s also why you’ll see lots of “I’ll cover this in the next note.” Not necessary to read it before the chapter, mostly it’s just there for those who are curious or would like a few more details. And also because this back half of the story was a Fu^%&#@ nightmare in terms of planning and I want SOMEONE to appreciate how much brain power I devoted to it, lol. Looking at you honeylime08… ;-)
> 
> The flashback for this chapter takes place Christmas 2013, so shortly before the Olympic Games at Sochi. Peeta would be 21.

_The dog greets him first. Barking and leaping in the air to see him through the half window on the door. As soon as the door opens, the mass of golden fur barrels through, barking happily. Peeta only has one foot out of his Jeep before the sixty pound golden retriever leaps into his lap, soaking his pants with mud and snow._

_“Hey there, Pepper. Did you miss me, sweetie?” he asks and scratches behind her ears as she barks once and then pants in his face. “You did! Who’s a good girl?”_

_“Uncle Peeta! Uncle Peeta!” The mob of Mellark nieces descends next, forming a half circle around the open door and blocking his exit._

_“Did you bring us presents?”_

_“Of course he did! Uncle Peeta always brings presents!”_

_“I lost a tooth!”_

_“I lost two toofs!”_

_He ruffles Caitlin’s hair and Pepper shoves her nose in his face to regain his attention._

_“Girls! Let Uncle Peeta at least get out of the car!” Graham shouts from the doorway, tugging on his second snow boot to follow and corral his daughters._

_“We made macaroons! You hafta try the purple ones! Those are the ones I made!”_

_“Are the presents in the back?”_

_Peeta laughs and gathers the dog up in his arms as Graham walks over. He scoops up Caitlin and Ariel to move them back and they squeal. “You won’t get presents if he can’t even get out of the car, sillies.”_

_Peeta finally manages to climb from the car and sets down the dog while Brigid tugs on his hand to get his attention. He kneels down in front of her and her lips pop as she removes her thumb from her mouth. “Daddy says you need a girlfriend.”_

_“Did he?” Peeta glances up at Graham who waves his hand next to his ear and shakes his head as if to say ‘I don’t know where she comes up with these things.’_

_“Uh-huh. I’m a girl. And I can be your friend.”_

_Peeta keeps his mouth as straight as possible and nods solemnly. “Well I’d like to be your friend too.”_

_“Okay,” she says with a huge smile and a quick spin. Her galoshes kick up loose snow and Peeta stands to find the other two bouncing to get a look into the back of his Jeep, whispering excitedly._

_“Girls,” Graham admonishes._

_“What? We didn’t do it!” Ariel says and steps back from the Jeep, hiding her hands behind her back. Graham gives her a stern look. The dog follows Peeta to the back of the Jeep where he unlocks the back door and the girls wait with bated breath._

_“You only get these if you help carry them inside. And put them straight under the tree,” Peeta tells them._

_“We will!” Ariel offers immediately and Peeta smiles._

_“Without peeking.”_

_“Aw,” they all moan and he bites back a laugh._

_“Not even just a tiny peek through the corner on the wrapping paper?”_

_“Nope,” Peeta says. Caitlin huffs but Brigid agrees to his terms immediately. When Ariel does too after some consideration, Peeta opens the door. The girls gasp and work together, grabbing the closest present then swapping with each other until they each hold one long, thin package wrapped in her favorite color before racing inside with their loot._

_“Should’ve told them to come right back for the rest,” Peeta says and eyes the pile of packages still sitting on top of his suitcase. “They left the ones from Gramps.”_

_“I’ll get them,” Graham says and gathers up as many as he can carry. He eyes the handful of presents remaining in a jumble. “We’ll make another trip.”_

_Peeta grabs his suitcase as Graham asks about the drive. “Not too bad. Gramps is still flying down tomorrow. What about Ryen?”_

_“When do any of us know what Ryen’s plans are?” Graham asks and Peeta chuckles as he wipes his boots inside the door, steps around the haphazard pile of smaller boots._

_“And Dad?”_

_“Spending Christmas with the new girlfriend’s family.”_

_“Oh. Alright,” Peeta says, a little annoyed that this is the first he’s hearing of that situation._

_“No it’s the styling that I have an issue with. He’s a thirty-one year old father of four and potential repeat gold medalist. You made him look like a playboy after his best friend’s bachelor party in Vegas.” Peeta waves at Savannah, Graham’s wife, as they enter the kitchen. She waves back, a wooden spoon in her hand that she returns to the pot to stir dinner while she rolls her eyes at the person on the phone. She’s got a toddler on her hip, an earpiece in to accomplish it all. Her long, dark brown hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her brown eyes burn with determination._

_“Photo shoot proofs came in today and she’s not happy with them,” Graham explains._

_“I don't care how in demand this photographer is. These pictures are not acceptable. They are completely at odds with Mr. Mellark’s image. I count maybe two that are usable.”_

_“No kidding,” Peeta says and Graham frowns at him, opens his mouth to probably scold Peeta for his sarcasm._

_“If you must strip him down to his undies, at least style his hair so he’s recognizable,” Savannah continues, oblivious to the brother’s exchange._

_“She’ll work it out though,” Peeta offers._

_“She always does,” Graham says, relaxing. They make their second trip to get the last of the gifts. Graham and Ariel arrange the presents while Peeta heads back into the kitchen._

_Sitting at the kitchen table, Peeta lets his eyes skim over the spread out glossy photographs while he works off his snow boots. They kind of do make Graham look like a playboy, Peeta snorts quietly. His oldest brother usually styles his hair trimmed with a neat side swoop to his bangs, wears stiff collared button downs and sweaters and khakis. In these pictures, they have him in bright prints unbuttoned halfway down his chest with his hair all messed up. Peeta’s stunned they even managed to get him in front of the camera dressed like that. Savannah must not have been there for this particular shoot._

_Once Peeta has stashed his boots and coat in the mudroom, he walks up to Savannah and peers in the pot at the cooking potatoes. The air is fragrant with the spices and warm scent of roasting meat in the oven._

_“Smells delicious,” he whispers so he doesn’t disturb the phone conversation and relieves her of the toddler. He opens his mouth in an exaggerated smile as Diana coos and babbles at him then grabs his cheeks with her still pudgy hands. He turns away to take the child into the other room and misses the sad look Savannah gives his back. “Let’s go find your toys, Smarty Pants.”_

_He finds a few scattered in the living room where the other girls have gathered with puzzles and books to distract themselves from the temptation of the wrapped presents under the tree. Peeta settles in with his youngest niece to play, chatting with the older three. It’s only a short while before Savannah wraps up her phone call and Graham announces dinner._

_They gather in the kitchen, Graham helping the girls fill their plates, Peeta wrangling Diana into her high chair and distracting her with a slice of cooked apple so he can snatch back Savannah’s fork that she somehow got hold of. Pepper sits next to Graham’s chair and waits patiently for scraps, tail sweeping the floor and chest heaving with eager pants._

_“So you head back to San Diego in January, right Peeta?” Savannah asks as she slides into her chair. The girls dig into their food with gusto and Graham pops open a bottle of wine, pouring a glass for his wife. “Thank you, dear.”_

_Graham winks at her and Peeta looks down at his food before answering._

_“That’s right.”_

_“How’s the alternating semesters working?” Graham asks, offering the wine to Peeta. He declines and pokes at the roast chicken on his plate._

_During that summer break, after his Dad told him of his decision to move here, Peeta came up with the plan of breaking from traditional fall-spring semesters at school. He spent that fall at SDSU but then spent the spring semester at Skadi, returned to SDSU in the summer for classes then to Skadi in the fall, rotating in and out with an extra summer in San Diego this year and a handful of courses completed online whenever he was in Wyoming._

_“Pretty well, actually. Pushed my graduation date back until next December, though.”_

_“No harm in that,” Savannah says and gently corrects Caitlin to chew with her mouth shut. Peeta catches the girl’s eye and makes a face with a wad of potatoes in his mouth. She giggles and Graham glares at him._

_“Not really. Gives me a chance to help out at home and explore other things.” The fact that it gave him more time to spend with family and more time actually doing things he loves goes without saying. He’s glad he got the chance to get to know Graham and Savannah’s girls, to make sure his family isn’t complete strangers._

_“Speaking of which...those presents are an interesting shape,” Graham says meaningfully._

_“Oh no. You didn’t. That’s too much, Peeta,” Savannah says and Peeta shrugs._

_“What? I can’t spoil my nieces?”_

_“What are we getting?” Ariel asks with excitement._

_“You’re just gonna hafta wait.” Peeta leans towards her with wide eyes and she laughs at his goofy tone. Savannah and Graham share a look and Graham clears his throat._

_“I was half expecting you to bring a friend with you,” Graham says and Peeta sits back, shaking his head. This is not what he wants to talk about._

_“I was hoping to actually meet this one. What was her name? Rebecca?” Savannah asks softly, scraping some of her cooked carrots onto the tray in front of Diana who smashes a handful into her mouth._

_“No that was the one before, wasn’t it?”_

_“Lavinia. I haven’t dated anyone named Rebecca,” Peeta corrects and tears at his roll._

_“Not yet,” Graham mutters and jumps when Savannah kicks him under the table._

_“Things didn't… work out with Lavinia,” Peeta explains, ignoring the couple’s silent conversation with their eyes._

_“Careful Peeta. You’re in danger of turning out like Ryen,” Graham warns and Savannah gives him a quelling look._

_“Well what else am I supposed to do? You somehow snatched up the best woman in the world and left nothing but scraps for the rest of us to fight over,” Peeta says and stands with his plate to get seconds. Savannah swats at his arm, but she’s smiling._

_Brigid thankfully asks about what they’re doing tomorrow and diverts attention away from Peeta. He sneaks one of the purple macaroons under the table to her as he returns to his seat. When neither of her parents are looking, she shoves the whole thing in her mouth. Peeta stifles a laugh at her puffed out cheeks. He manages to sneak one to Ariel and one to Caitlin when he gets a third helping._

_After dinner, he settles on the couch and rubs absently at his thigh until Caitlin approaches him with a book._

_“What’s this?”_

_“You do funny voices,” Caitlin explains and he smiles, jerking his head to the side to invite her up on the couch beside him._

_Before he finishes the first page, he somehow has all four of them piled on top of him, listening to the story. Caitlin and Ariel lean into him on either side. Brigid drapes herself over his shoulders and the back of the couch. Diana stands at his knee, clinging to his pants and bouncing, adding the occasional babbled addition to the tale._

_After three more stories, Graham snatches Brigid off the couch and tosses her up in the air before catching her. “Bath time!”_

_The girls complain, but follow him upstairs, leaving Savannah and Peeta in the living room. “Would you like some tea?”_

_“Sure. Thank you, Savannah,” Peeta says and follows her into the kitchen to help out. When they’re both settled on the couches with their tea, listening to the muffled sounds of laughter and chatter from the upstairs bathroom, Savannah returns to the unwanted conversation from earlier, only approaching it differently this time._

_“You’re made to be a father, you know,” she says and Peeta chokes on his tea, eyes watering as he tries to get himself under control._

_“At least let me graduate before I knock someone up,” he finally says and Savannah laughs._

_“Of course.”_

_“Besides, it’s a lot easier to crash in here for a few days, spoil your kids rotten, and then leave you two to deal with the mess.”_

_“I suppose,” Savannah says and takes a quick sip._

_“And didn’t Graham tell you? I’m adopting four kids next week.”_

_“You’re…” Peeta tries not to laugh at her confused astonishment._

_“Snowboarding camp,” he explains and Savannah relaxes._

_“That’ll be good,” she says and they fall silent, watching the fire in the hearth. Peeta sips his tea and bounces one knee, wishing there was music or something. Savannah thankfully finds something else to talk about. “Those presents are shaped an awful lot like skis.”_

_“Wonder why?” Peeta quips and she gives him an unconvincing scowl._

_“How’s that coming along?”_

_“Not great. Graham is still my best customer,” he admits. “Okay he and Ryen are pretty much my only customers so far.”_

_“I have a friend who works in advertising. She specializes in boutique work. Maybe you should give her a call.”_

_“I don’t know,” he hedges and taps his fingers on his mug._

_“Graham is very particular about his skis, you know.”_

_“I’m aware,” Peeta says wryly. He’s spent hours discussing the minute details of ski design with his oldest brother. Usually they can agree on what Graham needs in his skis. Where they differ is in the graphics department. Graham claims he couldn’t care less as long as they work well but then he keeps demanding a solid color. It makes Peeta chafe, making something so boring for Graham, so he paints them in stripes anyways._

_“You should use that.”_

_“What? You think his pickiness can help me sell more skis?”_

_“I do. You can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed how particular these skiers all are about their equipment.”_

_“All except for Ryen. He couldn’t care less what goes into making them as long as he’s winning.”_

_“So use him to market the unique graphics,” Savannah suggests and Peeta thinks about it. Makes sense to some degree. “At least let me give you her business card?”_

_Peeta nods, surprised when she produces the card from her pocket and hands it to him._

Tigris

_The card has only the one name, an e-mail address, and a phone number. Simple and stark. He pockets it and thanks his sister-in-law for thinking of him._

_The girls thunder back down the stairs then, washed and dressed in their pajamas, hair braided and teeth brushed, to say goodnight. It’s a flurry of activity and then they’re finally down for the night. Tired from the drive, Peeta finishes his tea and heads to bed himself._

_The next two days are just as busy. Peeta and Graham take the girls sledding. Savannah and Peeta paint with them in the afternoon while Graham leaves to pick Gramps up from the airport._

_Christams Eve is spent baking and driving through a local light show. Ryen doesn’t show but calls to make sure the presents he sent made it on time. The postman looks overworked with the pile of packages he carries to the front door. Graham sighs and mutters about Ryen as he and Peeta open them in the guest room Peeta’s using. They wrap the presents because Ryen couldn’t be bothered to add gift wrapping to the online order._

_By the time the girls are once more asleep in bed and the last secret preparations for tomorrow are finished, everyone is tired. Gramps turns in after a nightcap with Graham. Peeta thinks to stay up and enjoy the fire in the hearth, the glow of the lights on the tree, for a few more minutes but decides against it when Savannah curls into Graham’s side and he wraps an arm around her, kisses her forehead. Instead, he gives them privacy and lays awake in bed, watching the snow fall outside his window and wondering how he can be surrounded by family but feel so empty._

_Maybe Savannah and Graham are right about him. He rolls over and grabs his phone, typing out a message to Lavinia and then deleting it. In the end, it’s the muffled sounds of laughter coming from the next room over that drives him to type the message once more and send it._

* * *

 

We travel by plane then train to the next stop on our biathlon roadshow. Madge turns out to be a great travel buddy. We watch each other’s piles of bags during bathroom trips, she read signs and gets us to our next point while I use my phone to search for food. We talk a little but mostly keep to ourselves. She even charms Haymitch into something resembling pleasant.

When we reach our hotel in Austria, I text Prim to let her know and check the time, wincing when I realize I just texted her in the middle of the night. I set my phone aside and jump in the shower to wash off the travel grime, deciding to text Peeta later when it’s a reasonable hour back home.

Dinner is awkward, much like in Sweden. Maybe more so since this competition features a 4x6 relay and my absence will be more noticeable than last time when all the relays were mixed teams. At least the relay is after the sprint and the pursuit this time. My exclusion from it won’t be an advantage over my teammates. After dinner, Madge pulls me up to the hotel lobby desk and asks the clerk for a map of the area then hands the man her phone so he can take a picture of us.

“What are we doing?”

“Hunting,” she explains with a smile as she unfolds the map. It takes me a moment to understand what she means as we look intently at the map together. She thanks the clerk and two minutes later, the picture is up for the world to see. Two biathlon athletes searching for gelato in Austria.

Bristel still hates me and Arnold Gloss’ words still pick at the edges of my concentration, but I’m on the hunt with Madge and her kindness reminds me that I can’t let him get to me. My confidence is further reinforced through a quick spate of texts swapped with Peeta, during which he assures me not to worry about what time I text. We have enough to keep track of without bothering with time zones. That’s what Do Not Disturb functions on phones are for. After that, I’m able to get decent sleep.

Competitions can sometimes become mind numbing with the repetition of travel - register - practice - compete - repeat. The gelato hunt adds an element of fun I’ve never had before as our post gets attention from several local places and residents with suggestions.

Then Peeta sends long text messages with funny stories about a wedding that’s being held at the lodge right now -- disasters narrowly avoided, why it’s a bad idea to wear a strapless gown in a winter wedding, mother of the bride gone mad, the intricacies of getting a wedding party of 18 all on skis and posed for pictures, and did I know that 500 candles can raise the temperature of a ballroom enough to make a hungover best man pass out mid-toast?

_At least it wasn’t the groom, mid-vow_

**_Or the bride,_ ** I send back and get a laughing face in response.

I barely notice the handful of days preparation and find myself blinking in blinding sunshine as I clean my protective glasses and wait for my start at the sprint.

“Make the trip worth it, Sweetheart,” Haymitch says as the skier before me takes off and I adjust my glasses on my nose to take my spot.

Bonnie’s already done when I cross the line and she cheers as my name is added to the board at 30th. I don't celebrate just yet. Not until there are are about ninety names listed with mine still in 30th, assuring me a spot in the pursuit. Once again, it’s just me from our team. The other four finish scattered between 61st  -- Wiress just out of the running -- and 85th -- Bristel who spends twenty minutes complaining to Twill about the bindings on her skis acting weird.

“That’s got nothing to do with your less than stellar shooting today,” I overhear Twill saying as I snap a few shots of my skis for Peeta’s tag, adding Austria to the map for this particular pair.

“Let’s go before it gets u-g-l-y,” Madge whispers, linking her arm with mine and dragging me away from the recovery area.

“Where?” I ask, a little confused.

“Gelato!” she says in a loud whisper and then sobers. “Unless that’s a bad idea for you the night before the pursuit.”

I really don’t care about my diet at this point and shrug as Bonnie walks up to us, fingers flying over her phone. “What are you doing?”

“Giving Twill an out so she can join us. I think I sprained my ankle.”

Madge laughs and grabs some snow. “Let’s make it convincing.”

I shake my head at them, wondering when we added Bonnie and Twill to these frozen treat excursions, but it works. Half an hour later, the five of us are sitting in a shop with our gear still on and our hair matted, but I’ve got a bowl of raspberry gelato  -- because it’s fruit and therefore not ruining my pre-race diet -- and shaking my head at the story Wiress tells about what Arnold Gloss said to her last week. That she’s too old and unattractive to compete anymore.

“He’s a prick,” Twill says. And then reassures Wiress that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m oddly relieved that I’m not the only one Gloss has been snide with.

“Because beauty wins biathlon, didn’t you know?” I mutter and Bonnie laughs.

“Just dazzle the targets with your smile so they turn white in envy,” Madge imitates him and his bleached white smile, setting off another round of laughter and prompting Wiress to share a story about some of his more unorthodox preparation techniques. By the end, we can’t stop laughing. It makes me feel better about my less than charitable thoughts about him.

“I do _not_ want to know this much about Gloss’ manscaping,” Madge says, her face hidden behind both hands. Bonnie gasps for breath and Twill calmly spoons gelato in her mouth, her shoulders shaking in quiet mirth.

On our way back to the hotel, I get a message from Peeta, asking me how I did and if I’ve got time for a phone call or Skype. I’m light as a feather as I tell him where I finished and answer him that yes I do have time, as long as he doesn’t mind seeing me all sweaty and gross.

_You’re turning me on with that dirty talk_

I blush and deflect when Madge asks what’s up with Peeta. “Skype,” I tell her. “So you can shower first.”

It’s early morning back home, and my insides clench when he comes up on my screen, shirtless and clearly still in bed, bathed in lamplight, eyes sleepy and hair tousled.

“At least we’re both a mess,” he says. I’m hit with a twinge of melancholy as I flex my fingers, imagine running them through his hair before bringing his lips to mine.

“But you at least look sexy,” I breathe and he gives me a smile that warms me through, even from thousands of miles away. Seeing him like that makes me want to lick and bite things. Tasty things.

We have to keep our conversation short. Madge won’t stay in the shower forever and he has to start his day, but I’m glad I at least got to see him today. I carry the image of him and the sound of his voice with me into the shower and hope the water is loud enough to cover my groan of frustration when I can’t seem to get myself to come on my hand. It’s aggravating, but I don’t want to waste any more time in here. I lean my head against the tile and calm down, resigned to waiting until we can manage a longer phone call. I finish washing and dress in warm pajamas.

Madge isn’t in the room when I’m done. I climb into bed to hopefully take a nap, but my laptop is still open and I realize I haven’t seen Prim since I left Colorado. We’ve talked, but haven’t Skyped. I grab my phone and send her a quick text.

**_You have time for Skype before class?_ **

_Sure! Just give me ten minutes! :)_

Her answer comes in fast enough to make me think I’m not waking her at least. I’ve got so much on my plate that I can’t remember her class schedule exactly. I’ve got it written down somewhere, but before I can find it to double check, her username pops up as online and then my laptop starts beeping with the call tones.

“Hey!” she says brightly. “How’d it go?”

“Not bad… I finished thirtieth,” I tell her as her pixelated image comes into focus. It’s barely light there and she’s got her lamp on, her hair wet and braided around the back of her head, down over her shoulder.

“Oh my gosh!” Prim gasps “So you’ll be in the pursuit again tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“How exciting!”

She asks for details so I tell her a little about the race and she laughs at my rendition of our escape and dessert hunting. I’m relaxed and happy and so it takes me a moment to register the figure I see walking across the screen behind her. When I do, my pulse stutters and an unpleasant heat rushes through me.

“Prim!” I squeal and cover my eyes. I swallow and control my voice so I don’t sound so freaked out. She’s an adult. I shouldn’t be freaked out. Especially not when I was about to share the manscaping story with her to get her to laugh. “There is...um...a naked man in your room.”

“What? Oh! Put some clothes on.” The naked man answers her but I can’t understand him. Prim sighs and I peek through my fingers enough to see her motion towards me on her screen. “Because I’m on Skype with my sister.”

“I don’t care if she sees me.” I can hear him this time and I tilt my head at the familiar tones.

“Okay but you’re an exhibitionist and she’s a prude so do you see how this is a problem?”

“I am not a prude,” I protest. I realize my hands over my face are not helping my case and drop them. Thankfully, the naked man is not in the frame anymore. My sister looks more perturbed than chagrined at being caught. Then my mind places the voice I heard. “Wait is that Ryen?!”

“Um--”

“Primrose Everdeen! Did I just see Ryen’s naked ass? What is he doing there?”

“What am I doing here? Man if you’re asking that, I need to give The Talk to the runt.”

“You’re not helping, and if the sex noises I’ve heard from them are any indication, the runt might be able to teach you a thing or two.” Prim sighs and I gape at her.

“When? When did you hear us?” Here I’d thought we’d been so careful. “When did you two even hook up? You said it was just flirting!”

“When is not important. And yes, Katniss. You just saw Ryen’s naked ass.” She leans towards the screen with a smile on her face. A very not innocent smile. “So tell me something. Is that magnificent ass a family trait?”

“Hey! I’m not sure I want you asking her about my brother’s ass!” Ryen shouts in the background and Prim lifts her head to make a face at him.

“That’s because Peeta’s is _way_ better,” I mutter and Prim stares at me for a second before she doubles over laughing.

“Careful there, Katniss. Next time, I’ll show you the front. Then you won’t have anything to gloat over,” Ryen taunts.

“I seriously doubt that,” I say before I can think better of it. Prim loses it, practically falling off her bed. Really I say it because my brain is focused intently on my recent peek at sleepy, shirtless, bed-head Peeta and what I know was hiding beneath his sheets. A much more satisfactory image for me than inadvertently venturing into thoughts of Ryen’s junk.

Shudder.

Ryen tries to argue, but Prim picks something up and throws it at him. “Go start those pancakes you promised me or I’ll let her take a shot at both!” I shake my head at the strange comment, too afraid to ask what she means.

“I am done with this conversation now. I’ll call you when you’re not occupied,” I say.

“Wait! Wait!” Prim shouts through her laughter. “Oh my gosh, I think you just smashed half his ego with one sentence. I love you for that! But don’t go yet.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

Prim scoffs and shakes her head. “No intrusion. You’re my sister and I wanna talk to you while I can. Besides, this is casual.”

“Casual?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell me you think I’m dumb enough to believe anything with that one is serious.” She waves in the general direction of our kitchen and I sigh.

“No, I guess not. Wait, he’s not naked in our kitchen, is he?”

“No, he put some shorts on. And you’re worrying,” Prim sing-songs.

“No I’m not.”

“That’s the worry face, Katniss.”

No, it’s the ‘I want naked Peeta in my bed with me this second and I can’t have him’ face, but I don’t want to say _that_ to my sister and admit that I am weirdly jealous of her right now.

“Can you blame me? He changes girlfriends as often as he changes sporting events! Next he’ll be trying grass skiing!”

“Which I am fully aware of and also why I’m just having some fun here. And pancakes. I’ve got way too much going on with school and work to attempt any kind of real relationship right now.”

“Pancakes are a good perk,” I admit reluctantly. I can see there’s no dissuading her. I can only hope she’s right and stays smart enough to not fall for Ryen. “But I thought he wasn’t your type?”

“At the moment, my type is someone who knows how to use what nature blessed him with. The front is a pretty good perk, too.”

“Oh my god,” I mumble and can’t help but laugh. This conversation is doing nothing to solve my frustrated situation.

“Which leads me to another family similarity. Don’t freak out, but I have got to ask, for possible future ammunition against his ego…”

She peers over the top of her laptop, I’m guessing to make sure that we’re alone. Satisfied, she bites her lip, her cheeks flushed, and lifts her hands, spaced a respectable distance apart. It takes me a moment to realize what she’s doing and when I do, my cheeks burn.

I cannot believe that I’m having what amounts to a dick measuring contest with my sister, but who else am I gonna have girl talk like this with? Certainly not Haymitch. Ugh. And I’m not convinced the team doesn’t hate me still, so they’re out. And maybe it’ll help me calm my raging hormones down.

I hesitate but then lift my own hands about the same distance apart. Prim nods with a smile, shifting one hand to form a circle. Without my permission, my lips curve in a devious smirk as I realize that I win.

“Runt is a terribly inaccurate epithet for Peeta,” I say as I lift my own hand in a noticeably larger circle.

“You lucky bitch!” Prim yells at the same time Ryen returns and asks where the syrup is. “Okay, love you, Katniss!” she shouts.

“What are you girls talking about now?”

“Nothing! Love you too, Duck! Talk to you soon!” And then she’s gone with laughter in her eyes.

I’m still smiling when I set an alarm on my phone then curl up and fall asleep. My dreams are anything but prudish.

It’s only as I’m lining up the next morning to start the pursuit that Arnold Gloss intrudes back into my mind where I don’t want him when I catch a glimpse of him along the sidelines. Why can’t he just go back to the US and deal with paperwork? I huff and recenter myself before the tones sound.

This time, I at least make it to one of the benches before I collapse. There’s pounding behind me and I look up to find Bonnie and Madge both smiling down at me brightly.

“You finished twelfth!” They tell me and I let my eyes slide shut and smile as they slap me on the shoulders and their words of support bolster me. It’s almost unheard of for an American to have a season this good. I had a strong season last year, but that was tarnished with doubt. My one win last year, the one that secured me a definitive spot on the Olympic team and caused all the expectations to land on me was dismissed as a fluke later on. A product of luck on a day of horrible winds and everyone shooting poorly. But if I can keep myself consistently up here in the twenties or higher, that will say something.

I’m exhausted the next morning, but I drag my ass out of bed and pester Haymitch for his thermos before making my way to the stands to cheer on my team in the 4x6 relay, even if I’m technically not a part of them.

I can’t help it. I watch them critically. Years of picking apart the performances of my competitors to find spots where they are weak so that I can be better have honed my ability to find flaws. Bristel has an attitude problem, no shock there. Madge needs some work on her shooting. She’s good but inconsistent. Bonnie is so eager that she sometimes gets sloppy with her skiing. And Wiress...I hate to say anything cruel about her since she’s been such a stronghold in US women’s biathlon for years, but maybe Gloss is right about her. She has no spark left in her.

When it’s done, they finish twentieth. Out of twenty-one.

I leave the stands quietly and let them mourn together. I am not a part of this loss and have no claim to this feeling of disappointment. Besides, my presence will likely only rub salt in the wound.

Madge is subdued on our way to France. At one point, I can’t take it anymore and search through my iPod, cobbling together a quick playlist of the handful of songs I have that will work, silently sending Peeta a “Thank you” for having such varied music tastes.

“Here,” I say as I nudge her and hand the iPod to her. Her brow furrows for a second, but she plugs in her own headphones and then smiles as the soft piano concerto fills her ears.

“Thank you, Katniss,” she says and leans back with her eyes closed. Her fingers tap out the melody on imaginary keys and I pull out my book as the train speeds through Switzerland, on our way to France.

I wind up eating dinner with Haymitch during the days leading up to the races in France, almost afraid to spend any time around the team. Madge doesn’t question this or complain about it. The strain of the season is already setting in, and I get a little distracted by thoughts of the upcoming break. Especially when Peeta texts me as he’s on his way out the door to his last race before the halfway break in our seasons.

_On my way to Breckenridge. TAS camp December 20th - 23rd. Think you can make it one of those days?_

**_Shouldn’t be a problem_ **

Now I really have something to look forward to. Concrete dates to spend with Peeta. It helps a little with the guilt that I’m missing yet another one of his competitions. This one on home territory.

Twill is determined to have a good finish in France. For all of us. She, Haymitch, and the other coaches are firm and critical of us during the practice days.

“Last one until 2018, girls. Let’s keep our focus and show them what we’re made of.” She claps her hands together as she walks down the line to check on us before sending Wiress to the start. I pulled one of the later starting numbers and I’m just pulling out my iPod when Bristel skis past on her way to the start.

“Hope you enjoyed that extra day of rest,” she sneers and I stare after her, anger coalescing inside of me. I jam in my headphones and turn on something that’s more screaming than singing.

I’m probably sloppy on skis, but I know when I cross the line that I kicked ass today.

“As much as I like these numbers, can you not kill yourself before the Olympics please?” Haymitch asks with a scowl as I sit in cold snow and hold myself over my knees gasping for breath.

“Shut up and tell...tell me...where I finished,” I force out the words.

“Tenth,” he says and I stop breathing for a few seconds.

“Teh -- Where?”

“Tenth, Sweetheart. You’re really making them sweat now,” he says softly and places a hand on my shoulder as tears leak out of the corner of my eyes. I tip my head back and look up at him as Bonnie squeals and falls on me in a hug.

“Oh my gosh! We’ve got two in the pursuit!”

“I think this calls for some gelato, don’t you?” Madge asks as she sits next to me. I look over at her, and she’s smiling happily.

“You?” I ask and she shrugs.

“Sixty-second.” It’s her best yet this year and I smile as she starts nodding. We don’t need to speak to understand. “Wiress finished 49th. Bonnie in 63rd.”

“Stand up, Katniss,” Bonnie urges and hands Haymitch her phone. “Can you take a picture of us?”

Bonnie positions the four of us, holding our skis upright in the snow, right hands over our eyes as we search the horizon.

“You are a dork,” Twill mutters to her wife but stands behind Haymitch and motions for us to scrunch in. At the last second, Wiress grabs Bristel and drags her into the picture.

“Come on sixty-eighth. That’s your best so far this season too. We’ve all got reason to celebrate today.”

Bristel reluctantly smiles and Haymitch takes the picture. Bonnie sends it to me and they all wait while I make the post, announcing that the whole team is on the hunt with me. We’ve got tomorrow off to rest and we make plans to meet up for gelato tomorrow afternoon.

I text Peeta and then shower. When I get out, he still hasn’t answered so I head out to dinner with Haymitch and Madge. There’s an excited answer from Peeta when I get back and I send him the details he asked for. I’m heading to bed before he gets back to me. All I manage to send back is a good luck wish for his race tomorrow before I fall asleep.

My day of rest is devoted to a light workout and sifting through the recommendations for places to get gelato. Madge and I pick one and then I call Prim. I catch her on campus right before her last final and we chat for a few minutes. She’s cheerful and talks mostly about the end of her semester and her weekend plans with her friends. No sign of heartache. I sigh in relief and then it occurs to me...I never mentioned what I saw to Peeta. He might not even know.

Before I can decide what to do about it, Madge announces that it’s time for dessert.

Bristel is quiet the whole time but she smiles for another team picture and seems to enjoy her coffee flavored gelato. The rest of the team is all smiles and excitement about the pursuit. We decide to do some sightseeing and then eat dinner before finally getting back to the hotel late.

When I connect to the hotel wifi, a pair of messages pop up on my screen.

 _Aced it!_ From Prim in regards to her last final. I send back a quick “Congrats and have fun this weekend.” She responds with wishes for luck in the pursuit. And then from Peeta:

_How was the gelato hunt?_

**_Tasty. How was your race?_ **

I text him back, post the results of our gelato hunt, shaking my head at the increase in followers that I have. Who would’ve thought that so many people would actually care about a grouchy biathlete?

Then I leave social media and take a shower. It’s already late and I don’t need to add anything else to my morning routine tomorrow. Afterwards, Madge and I lay in bed. I listen to the humming sounds of the hotel and check my phone here and there, waiting for a response from Peeta. It comes in around midnight.

_Glad to hear the hunt was successful ;-)_

_Finished seventh today, but was less than four seconds behind the leader_

_Lyme says stand by for word about Korea_

My breath catches as I realize what he’s saying. That they’re making a decision. Of course they’re making a decision. The photoshoots and lead up interviews, the media circus that Haymitch has been warning me about and that I’ve been ignoring, will kick off during the holiday break in the season.

I send back excited faces.

_Shouldn’t you be sleeping?_

**_Probably_ **

_Miss you_

**_Miss you too_ **

_Sweet dreams and happy hunting tomorrow. Go get ‘em, Hummingbird._

I yawn and tell him goodnight before setting aside my phone. And falling into sleep.

In the morning, Madge helps me get everything together. When we reach the venue, Bristel is there doing the same for Wiress. I’m a little surprised and choose to avoid them, instead taking the pictures of my skis for Peeta that I keep almost forgetting. Since I finished tenth two days ago, I start tenth today. With no real time to delay, I set up quick and barely hear Haymitch’s encouragement as I take my place right after ninth takes off.

As much effort as I put into my skiing and as clean as my shooting is with only two missed shots, I still only move up to 6th. It’s more than enough to get me into the mass start tomorrow, though. As I sit, recovering, I spot the others in the stands, anxiously watching for Wiress. When I can’t take it anymore, I glide over closer to them and step out of my skis.

“How’s she doing?”

“Can’t tell yet, but she’s finished her last shooting bout and only twenty-seven have crossed so far,” Bristel says. If three more cross before her, Wiress won’t make the mass start tomorrow.

“Look!” Bonnie shouts and we all turn. There’s a small cluster headed for the finish and we spot the bright cobalt blue of Wiress’ ski suit among them.

“Go,” Madge whispers and then Wiress passes one of them and she says it louder. “Go, Wiress! Go!”

“She’s gonna make it,” Bonnie says and then all of us are screaming and the girls are pounding the partition behind me as Wiress huffs and skis with everything she’s got left. She passes one more. I’m embraced from behind and there are tears in my eyes as Wiress stumbles approaching line but makes it another twenty yards before she falls. I fling aside my poles and the girls release me as I run over to her.

Wiress looks behind her at the board as I kneel beside her.

“Are you okay?” I ask stupidly as she turns to me with a hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes. I glance behind her and gasp at the number thirty next to her name. “You made it. Wiress, you made it!”

I don’t know what comes over me, but I throw my arms around her and she returns the hug.

We’re on a high that nothing can touch. Not even Arnold Gloss when we pass by him on our way out for a celebratory dinner. _Manscaping_ , Bonnie mouths and we all lose it. Bristel looks confused until Wiress brings her up to speed and I learn that Bristel snorts when she laughs.

I can’t get ahold of Peeta to tell him, but that’s probably because he’s flying back to Wyoming today. I leave him a mostly incoherent voicemail and lay awake in bed, waiting for sleep and unable to find it. My thoughts careen around in my head and I stare at the wall, thinking about those questions I don’t want to answer. About the past. The time to answer them is approaching faster than I’d like, and I need to face them.

I’ve spent close to ten years working my way here, and I did that without Peeta or Skadi or Gramps or anyone with the last name of Mellark supporting me. Just me, Haymitch, my skis, and my will to succeed. A portion of my success this season could easily be credited to Peeta and his help getting over my slump, but I earned my spot in the Olympics before that slump hit.

And do I really want everything about us smeared across newspaper headlines and broadcast on NBC in a special Olympics featurette? All the sordid, awful details of the accident and my botched first aid that cost him his leg? My foolish weakness in letting his mother get to me, which led me to a decision that forced Prim and I to endure the disdain and the neglect at the hands of supposedly well meaning relatives? I’m not sure that I want that kind of scrutiny.

No, I decide. Far better to tell my history starting in New Mexico. I’m not sure how to explain it to Peeta, but I think he’ll understand. He’s been loathe to step into the spotlight himself and has really only done it for the sake of his kids at TAS. And I don’t think Peeta will want to relive his mother’s abuse either. But this is a conversation to be had in person, not over distance where what I say and what I want could be misinterpreted.

Especially when we’ve barely gotten to speak or see each other in the past two weeks. It feels like we just keep missing one another, our times and communications rarely linking up just right. I knew this could happen with both of us so busy and spread far apart, but that doesn’t make the low feeling it causes any easier to deal with.

Resolved in my choices and in my decision to tell him when I’m in Wyoming for his snowboarding camp, I’m finally able to get the rest I need. I wake to an equally excited message from him about my finish. Before he can finish, his four, adorable nieces who are back at Skadi for a visit interrupt him with softly spoken “Uncle Peeta! Uncle Peeta!’s” and “You promised to take us skiing!”

“After I say good luck to Katniss and tell her that I miss her.”

“Good luck Katniss!” “Uncle Peeta misses you!” “We’re going skiing!” A chorus of girls sings and Peeta laughs. It helps calm my nerves. There are also a bunch of pictures of him skiing with the girls. It’s hard to tell for sure, but it looks like all of them are using a set of Peeta’s custom made skis that reflect their personalities.

If the pursuit is exciting, the mass start is near pandemonium. All thirty of us start at the same time, jostling for position and favored shooting lanes. Jammed together instead of spread apart, slowly lengthening leads as the 12.5 kilometer race progresses, or perhaps not, depending on how the shooting goes. First to cross takes it all.

Haymitch speaks and I barely hear the words as I nod. Wiress stands several yards away, her coach doing the same as Haymitch. He finishes his spiel and as I look up at him, he seems to be having a hard time with his words.

“Spit it out, Old Man,” I say and then grunt in surprise as he yanks me into an embrace. I’m still reeling as he lets me go. Haymitch rarely shows affection like that, especially not on the competition trail. But I guess the fact that this is the first mass start of the season and I’m actually in it has made him sentimental.

I’m further surprised when Madge stops by and embraces me too. “Good luck out there,” she whispers. I’m so surprised that after they leave me, I almost miss the crack that starts the race.

Once I get moving though, I settle into my stride. My chances at a mass start are few and far between and I refuse to miss this chance. I miss one shot on my first shooting bout and take my penalty loop. When I come out of it, I spot a lime green ski suit. I don’t know who she is, but keep her in my sights to set a pace. Slowly gaining on her. Set the goal of passing her by the end of the next shooting bout.

I take too long and wind up missing another shot. Frustrated, I take my aggression out on my penalty loop and the next section of skiing. My shooting is perfect for the third bout.

Maybe halfway through the next lap, I spot Wiress ahead of me. As we round a turn, she yells a short note of pain and goes down, limbs akimbo. My throat constricts and I slide to my knees beside her as she sits up and clutches her ankle.

“What happened?”

“Katniss,” she grits out as I stabilize her foot and snap off her skis. “Katniss, go.”

“What?”

“We’ve got her,” a voice tells me as more bodies drop in the snow next to me.

“Go!” Wiress urges, taking my hand in hers. “You can win this thing, Katniss. Go!”

I blink and fight against my every instinct to stay with her, to make sure she’s okay. What is wrong with me? This is a competition. I’m giving up precious time sitting here in the snow as people ski past us. She shoves me away from her. As I gain my feet and wobble away, I can feel that I’m off pace. Off kilter, off everything.

“Go win it for us!” Wiress shouts. “Dig! Katniss! Dig!”

Those words trigger something in me and I shove my poles in and shoot forward. Grit my teeth and lose track of distance or anything other than the motions of my arms and legs. I’m in a trance for my last shooting round and waste an extra second double checking my targets.

Zero misses.

One lap left and I ski it in a daze. I left Wiress behind. It feels wrong. All wrong and I’m fighting back stupid tears I don’t understand as I ski past the spot I left her and see that she’s already been moved off the course and yet...and yet…

I cross the line and barely register the screaming from the stands as my legs wobble and chest heaves. My vision is blurred. My knees give out and I go down. Then Haymitch is kneeling in front of me. He takes my poles without a word and grabs the back of my head to bring our foreheads together. I can’t read his expression or understand what the crowd is yelling at me.

“That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” he snarls and then his grip on me tightens. His voice wavers. “And also the best. Congratulations, Sweetheart, you just placed third and no one’s gonna give a fuck who placed first or second today.”

“Wiress,” I say, my voice quivering. “She --”

“Come on,” Haymitch says and drags me still on my skis to the first aid station. Wiress has her leg in a brace, and they’re getting ready to take her to a hospital. I should be thrilled with my finish. But I’m not. I finished third and all I want to do is curl up in my mother’s lap and cry while she runs her hand over my hair and tells me everything will be alright.

I don’t fully understand what’s happening until hours later, when we’re back in the hotel and I’m still reeling from the shock and fear and jubilation and _I don’t know_ what to feel over the entire thing. Madge turns on the television in our room and turns on English subtitles because while she’s fluent in French, I only know a handful of key words.

In a trance, I watch myself on the screen, stopping to check on Wiress. Her shouting and urging me to go. And then me shooting like it’s breathing and skiing like a fucking madwoman as I cross the line. Like that horde of demons is back there again. We watch it over and over as the announcers chatter excitedly and I read words in the captions like _incredible, true sportsmanship,_ and _inspiring_.

That’s not me, I think. That’s not me at all. And it only gets worse.

I can’t reach Peeta again. I cry into the phone as I leave him a message, confused and scared and it gets even worse still after I’ve showered and changed. When we go out for dinner and there are people wanting my autograph and pictures with me. The others notice my discomfort and Madge translates to explain that I’m worn out while Bristel changes our order for takeout, and after trying to explain _that_ , we hightail it back to our hotel and wind up having a picnic in Bristel and Wiress’ room, waiting for Wiress and Twill to get back from the clinic. I curl up and fall asleep with them all talking around me, wishing for Peeta to hold me or call me.

Someone lifts me and I protest until Haymitch reassures me that it’s just him. That Madge called him and Wiress is fine. He moves me down the hallway to my room and sets me on my bed and tells me it’ll be okay. All I can do is nod.

I spend the night fighting disturbing dreams. I wake in the middle of it, unsure what interrupted my sleep until I realize that I never heard back from Peeta. I’m not even sure I took my phone to dinner with me. With a curse, I scramble and search for it, eventually finding it buried under my discarded, stinking ski suit and hat and socks. I didn’t take it to dinner. I curse again when I find a few texts from him, then voicemails checking in on me and sounding increasingly worried.

**_Sorry! I fell asleep._ **

I settle back in my sheets and stare at the phone, my eyes going hazy as I wait for his response. The loud thud of my phone hitting the floor jolts me awake and I dive out of bed to retrieve it. When I do, I see that I slept through his call and a text. Or maybe the alerts were blocked by the Do Not Disturb function. I don’t know, but I freeze when I read the text.

_Call me. Whatever time you get this. Please. Before you check Twitter or anything else._

Dread courses through me as I pull on my shoes and grab my room key, slipping down the hall to a quiet corner so I don’t wake Madge. I curl up against the wall and sniffle as the phone rings once, twice.

“Katniss! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. No I’m not,” I babble and he soothes me. It’s a quick outburst that’s thankfully free of tears and I’m calm after he murmurs to me for a few minutes. When I fall silent, he takes a deep breath and I brace myself for whatever he’s going to say.

“Katniss, I’m so sorry. I -- If I’d known what he was going to do…” The dread is back in an instant.

“Who?”

“Graham. Katniss, you’re everywhere right now. All over the place between what happened today with you and Wiress and then…”

“What, Peeta?” I snap. “Then what?” I’m not sure how much more I can take.

“He did it to congratulate me. He didn’t mean any harm by it.” I wait while Peeta takes a deep breath. “Remember the video montages Graham used to make after all our seasons?”

“Those cheesy highlight reels?” I snort and rub the heel of my palm in my eye, wondering where this new disaster is headed.

“Yeah, those. I’m -- he posted one online as a late throwback thursday thing because...because I’m going. Katniss I’m going with you to Korea and --”

I choke on words and finally latch onto the one good thing he said.

“You’re going? For real?”

“For real.”

“They’d be stupid not to take you,” I say, and some of the strangeness of the day lifts away, driven out by the joy of knowing Peeta’s going too. “I knew you could do it.”

“So...you’re not mad about the video?” Peeta asks. “I know you didn’t really want a lot of attention. Damn thing’s already gone viral. You’ll probably have a hundred notifications to deal with.”

And then it hits me. I’m in all of those videos too. Every single one of them.

It won’t take much digging to make the connections. Katniss Everdeen isn’t exactly a common name, especially not when you add the filter of competitive skiing. And if I’m already all over the sports news because of what happened today with Wiress…

“It’s okay,” I say, my voice and my hands shaking.

“Is it? We’ve barely talked in days and I didn’t know if you’d even want to bring up everything that happened in the past, if you’d be okay talking to reporters about it before the games and... Gramps and Savannah have been fielding reporters since this morning. He sent Gertrude down to Colorado Springs to see if Prim needed any help dealing with it.”

Prim.

Oh my god, Prim!

“Peeta,” I cut him off mid sentence. “I have to call Prim. I haven’t talked to her since before the race!”

“Okay. Yeah. Katniss, I am so sorry.”

He might be about to say something else when I hang up, too focused on reaching my sister. Prim answers after three rings and sounds flustered.

“A warning next time! Are you insane? What kind of stunt was that, Katniss?”

“Prim--”

“I have been sick with worry all day!”

“I couldn’t leave her,” I say and Prim sighs.

“Okay fine, fine. You couldn’t leave her. She’s your teammate. Now, tell me--”

“Miss Everdeen, this is Gertrude Schwartz. I work for Eirik Tjaland.” I have a quick mental flash to that night in the restaurant when I was still hiding and Eirik found me anyways. The woman who moved aside the dining table chair to make room for his wheelchair.

“I want to talk to my sister.” I say and when she tries to argue, I make it inescapably clear. I’ve had more than enough to deal with on this insane day and I am not putting up with overbearing assistants. “You’re there to keep reporters from bugging her! Not me! Put my sister back on the phone!”

“Thank you,” Prim says and then sighs. “She’s actually been invaluable. I swear the phone won’t stop ringing. At least two have had the balls to come to the door. Well...I question whether or not they have balls anymore after Gertrude finished with them.”

I laugh and surprisingly, so does Gertrude in the background.

“Tea would be lovely,” Prim says to her then focuses on me again. “Have you talked to Peeta?”

“Yes,” I say and Prim releases a breath.

“Okay, good. Of all the crazy days,” she says and takes a deep breath. “I’m alright Katniss. Just come home and we’ll work it all out, alright? Maybe this isn’t a bad thing. It’s crazy, but not so bad. And there’s good news here too!”

“I know,” I murmur and my hand fumbles for my hummingbird charm before I remember that I took it off to take a shower and never put it back on. I’m just dropping the ball on everything.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say.

“It’s like three a.m. there. Go get some sleep and call me when you’re on your way to the airport, okay? Any time. I’ve got Gertrude to make sure only you get through, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Safe flying, Katniss.”

We hang up and I stare at my phone. I know it’s a bad idea. That I should go back to bed and focus on the good news, not the level of attention headed towards us. I should wait to do this in the morning. But the truth is, I won’t be able to sleep until I know. Until I know which one it is. Which parts of our past are already out there for the entire world to analyze and dissect.

My hands are shaking as I open Twitter and scroll blindly through notifications until I find the source of trouble.

_Congrats to newest member of TeamUSA 4 Parasnowboarding! My brother @PMellark92! A late TBT to celebrate! @RyenMellarky @katnisseverdeen_

I click the video and wait for it to buffer, turn the volume down as the year 2006/2007 comes up. Of course he picked the last year we were all competing together. It’ll be the most impressive one. The screen fades to Graham’s name and cycles through half a dozen clips of him skiing, his jumps, and one of him hugging a very pregnant Savannah before kissing her.

Next comes Ryen, literally flying down a mountain and through his turns. Then the steady _swoosh-clack-swoosh-clack_ of him cutting through a slalom course. A loud whoop as he celebrates a first place finish.

I barely pay attention until it’s Peeta’s turn and an old familiar ache fills my chest as I watch him wave at whoever is holding the camera and then pull me into the frame. Our arms wrap around each other and I can’t hear the words I say to him. I’ve turned it down to low. It cuts to him bouncing his knees at the top of a halfpipe then sliding down into its shadows. Flying into the air. Twists, turns, flips, and four perfect landings. A grin filled with braces and then the steady scrapes of a giant slalom course. The words _Watch out, Vancouver!_ at the bottom after another clip from a halfpipe right before he sticks the landing on a 720 spin with one flip.

Us. The two of us dancing together at the top of a mountain.

I shut my eyes when the screen finally fades to my name. But that makes it worse. Without the sights to distract me, I hear every sound. Amplified in the darkness behind my eyelids. Peeta laughing. Faint cheering growing louder and Peeta saying “There! She’s there! She’s got it! Just pass one more!”

And then... My mother yelling.

“Dig! Katniss! Dig!”

I sob and drop my phone. Let the video keep playing as I curl in on myself. I realize in that moment of pain and memory, the first time I hear my mother’s voice since she died, the same words Wiress yelled at me yesterday... there will be no outrunning my past. No choice on which parts of it I share. The rest of the world already knows. Already wants in, and I won’t be able to keep them out anymore.

* * *

 

****************

**A/N:** Info for those interested! There are three separate competition groups I’ve kept track of for this story. While I’ve tried be accurate in following their competition schedules and basing the results in the story on actual results, it’s been tough to do 100%. As such, please forgive my creative liberties with dates and which countries win which events. I tried to maintain the spirit of the sports while still telling the story I wanted to tell.

My love (and also frustration) to honeylime08 for wanting freestyle skiing Rye or just any of the Mellark boys in the Olympics with Peeta when this mess became a topic of discussion on my tumblr. When I asked her what the oldest would compete in, she said “Nordic combined, just like his grandpa in Innsbruck in 1964.” Which led me down the thinking & planning spiral that became the Tjaland/Mellark family story. More on that in a later note.

Here we go:

Graham and Ryen would compete under the Fédération Internationale de Ski (FIS) or in English, International Ski Federation. [ http://www.fis-ski.com/ ](http://www.fis-ski.com/)

FIS is divided into disciplines: Cross Country, Ski Jumping, Nordic Combined, Alpine Ski, Freestyle Ski, Snowboard, and Other (did you know there really is a grass skiing league??? I did not until this story). Graham falls into the Nordic Combined division, which is a combined event over three days comprised of both cross country races and ski jumps. More on that disaster later.

Ryen starts by competing in alpine skiing, the same as Agnes did. Alpine skiing consists of five events. Some skiers pick one or two and focus on that, but the way I’ve written Ryen, he’s trying to collect titles in as many events as possible, so he would have raced in all 5 at some point. Alpine events include: downhill, super-g, slalom, giant slalom, and the combined. Basic difference between them is course length, number of gates, and distance between the gates. The combined event is just that - combine scores from a downhill run and 2 slalom runs to determine the winner.

After Agnes is removed from their lives, and Ryen feels like he’s got the alpine races covered, he switches to freestyle. Events for freestyle skiing: aerials, slopestyle, big air, ski cross, moguls, and halfpipe. Not all of those are included in the Olympics. Freestyle events differ on what kind of course you’re running, what kind of tricks you’re doing, and how it’s scored. Again, Ryen wants one of each in terms of titles so he keeps switching it up. I’ll go over Ryen’s story and potential events a little more in a future chapter.

Before his accident, Peeta would have also competed under FIS for snowboarding. FIS further divides snowboarding into freestyle, snowboard cross, and alpine. It is more likely that snowboarders would compete across disciplines than it is for skiers to do that. For example, I had Peeta competing in halfpipe, which falls under what FIS deems “Park & Pipe” or freestyle, and the slalom events I had him competing in as a kid (parallel slalom and parallel giant slalom in this case) would fall under the alpine snowboarding discipline. Again, will go into this in more depth later on for those interested.

Here’s the catch. Not every FIS competition features all of their events. There are just too many and they all require different things out of their venues. Soooo… They are all over the place. For example, Ryen was in New Zealand in chapter 18 for a big air event, but for that particular competition, there were zero Nordic events, hence why Graham wasn’t there.

After his amputation, Peeta competes under World Para Snowboarding, [ https://www.paralympic.org/snowboard ](https://www.paralympic.org/snowboard), which is a governing body completely separate from FIS. Currently para snowboarding has two competitive events, banked slalom and snowboard cross. Banked slalom is a timed race with gates and moderate terrain, excluding jumps. Basically, it’s all about speed and the turns. Snowboard cross is sometimes a timed race, sometimes a head-to-head race depending on the venue. Cross courses do include jumps. The races Peeta ran in New Zealand in chapter 18 were both banked slalom. The single elimination head-to-head races with a field of 16 that he ran in Finland in chapter 19 would have been snowboard cross races.

There is currently talk of adding a giant slalom event to para snowboarding. They gave it a trial run at one of their events last fall but there were only a handful of racers who tried it out. Since this would be Peeta’s first year back in the competition world, I figure he wouldn’t be one of them. He’d be focused on making it to Korea and would concentrate on training for banked slalom and cross. While there’s no word yet on if they’re going to try giant slalom again in the upcoming 2018/2019 season, I see this Peeta as jumping at the chance to help his sport expand if they do, especially with Katniss supporting him. Also, he’d kick ass in it. ;-)

Katniss competes under International Biathlon Union (IBU). [ http://www.biathlonworld.com/ ](http://www.biathlonworld.com/) Again, not affiliated with FIS. Although FIS governs cross country ski, they have nothing to do with biathlon. At. All. Add shooting to the event and it’s all IBU’s territory. They’ve got their own rules and season that doesn’t necessarily line up with FIS’ except for when they head to the Olympics and maybe a random competition here and there. In addition, each country that fields a biathlon team has their own sort of team headquarters that’s separate from Olympic Committees. US Biathlon Association is the other group that Katniss would be working with, the group that would actually have bearing on which level she competes in along with some say on whether or not the Olympic team should include her. You’ve already met their lovely prez for this story, Arnold Gloss.

Are you starting to see how this is a story planning nightmare? Eirik’s giant wipe board makes sense to you all now, doesn’t it? Do you have any idea how many pages I filled in my notebook with all this info? How many post-it notes have lived on my wall for weeks now?? How many docs were dedicated to keeping all of this straight??? Whose idea was this?!?! **HONEYLIME08 GET BACK HERE!!!!**

Deep breath. I’m calm now. Essentially, Katniss has a completely different calendar from the Mellarks. She might occasionally run into the older boys, but it wouldn’t happen often. Avoiding them for ten years wouldn’t have been that difficult.

Now for what they have in common: FIS and IBU both have three levels of competition that athletes work their way up through based on age and skill level. These are Juniors - Cup - World Cup. Most of the athletes sent to the Olympics compete in the World Cup levels during the regular season. Regular seasons consists of multiple competitions across the globe. Athletes are awarded points based on where they finish and at the end, most points gets the title. The Olympics themselves are no longer used as a scored event for either FIS or IBU and have no bearing on who wins the season title. In other words, the Olympics are just sort of their own special thing. That becomes important later. Oh wait you thought the breadcrumbs were only in the body of the story? GOTCHA! ;-)

Para-snowboarding does not have the league levels. They’re still a growing sport and are working with a smaller field of athletes at the current time and haven’t divided into juniors, etc. They do, however, use the points awarded for placement at each competition, most points accumulated gets the title at the end of the year format.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have jumped on the Rosie & Ryen train here, there will be a handful of outtakes posted under a different title that fill in some of the blanks that just don’t fit within Katniss’ POV and would have screwed up my chapters here. Stay tuned for the first one in a few days.
> 
> My thanks to savvylark, who continues to be an inspiration for this story. To buttercupbadass who is willing to nitpick stress cracks and timing with me as well as listen to all my whining and not hate me when I don’t warn her before she reads angst for me. I name you captain of the SS RIM, my dear. ;-)


	21. A Commercial Break

_Prim has the television on when Katniss manages to get the door open._

_“You’re back!” Prim shouts and races for them as Haymitch tosses aside his bag. They’re standing close together so Prim manages to get her still skinny arms around both Katniss and Haymitch. “How was the flight?”_

_“Long,” Haymitch says._

_“We brought you a Cinnabon from the airport,” Katniss says._

_“Oh! Yummy!” Prim says and releases them to claim the box. “We’ve got coffee ready for you, Haymitch.”_

_“Someone thoughtful. How refreshing,” he mutters and kisses Prim on the head before stomping towards the kitchen. As soon as he crosses through the doorway, Sae can be heard, badgering Haymitch in very colorful Navajo about boys and leaving his girls unprotected._

_“Iiieeee. I wouldn’t venture in there just yet.”_

_Katniss turns to Prim, who’s plopped back down on the couch with her Cinnabon. “What’s with Sae?”_

_“What’s with Haymitch?”_

_“He didn’t like stopping in Maine on the way back here.”_

_“It did cut into your break,” Prim says and tears off a piece of the flaky pastry before offering it to her sister._

_“I needed the training.”_

_“Are you sure?” Prim asks as Haymitch informs Sae, in equally colorful English, that she’s far more intimidating than he is to wayward boys and Katniss is almost twenty-two and always gone anyways so what does it matter?_

_“That one is too handsome for his own good,” Sae tells Haymitch._

_Katniss can feel her cheeks heat in embarrassment and shame._

_“Gale’s been by a few times.”_

_She sits there and waits for Prim to either explain or move on. She still hasn’t figured out what it means. What happened between her and Gale. She cares about him. She knows that much. Maybe she even loves him. It’s all so confusing and she rubs her temples to clear her thoughts._

_“What did he want?”_

_“He was really sweet. Checked on me and Sae, made sure we had everything we needed. Asked about you.”_

_“What did you tell him?”_

_“To be patient,” Prim says and focuses in on the TV now that the commercial break is over. The familiar drums and trumpets catch Katniss’ attention for a second before simple graphic boxes come up on screen, announcing which events are to be covered next and her heart starts pounding._

_“Can we watch something else?” Prim glances over at her with wide eyes and Katniss huffs. “Never mind. Sorry, Little Duck. I’m just tired. I think I’ll go take a nap.”_

_“Oh. Okay. I’ll keep the volume down,” Prim says and Katniss stands. She gives her sister a hug, tugs on her braid and then trudges back to her room._

_She can’t sleep, twisted visions dogging her until she finally brings up videos of her races, courtesy of the internet and the US Biathlon Association president. Her eyes burn and she’s close to falling asleep, but she’s picked out at least two things to focus on where she can improve. She’s searching for a third when she passes out asleep. Someone must check on her at some point because when she wakes, her laptop and notes are neatly stacked on the desk next to her bed. The blinds are closed and her quilt is tucked up around her._

_She keeps herself busy during the break. When the games are over in Sochi, it’ll be back to the competition trail and she’s determined to do even better. She figures she’s got three years. Three years to improve enough so that they’ll advance her to world cup. It’ll mean more money, more sponsors, but also more expectations._

_One evening during the break, she sits with Prim and Haymitch, a pile of pamphlets and acceptance letters spread out across the floor in front of them. In the back of her mind, Katniss crunches numbers, but the excitement on Prim’s face makes it worthwhile. They map out a route for visiting schools in the spring and early summer. Haymitch insists on taking her, and while Katniss wishes she could go with them, the money is still an issue. She decides to stay behind and work, work, work._

_The Olympics torch is extinguished and Katniss and Haymitch return to Europe to close out her season. It goes well, the improvements she’s made apparent in her finishes. Haymitch nods in approval at the end of it all and they head back home to pack up his car. For Prim._

_Alone in their tiny house hidden away in the mountains, Katniss continues her search for flaws in her performance. Fills her spare hours with training. Three years to perfect her technique and earn her place on the team for Pyeongchang. She’s chasing perfection now._

_Katniss works, waitressing at a local cafe, whatever she can get her hands on. The snows melt, and she returns to the country club. On her first day back, she only makes it two feet into the locker room before running into Gale. She holds her breath and waits for the crash. He hands her a pile of score cards._

_“Heavensbee is turning sixty-five today apparently. We’ve got a big group to deal with.”_

_“Sounds like rent is covered for the month,” she says and he shakes his head, but his lips twitch a little. A smile. Maybe._

_They don’t talk about what happened in his truck. It makes talking to him about everything else easier. Things go back to how they were before. She likes that._

_“She’s settled on UCCS. Saves us on room and board at least,” Katniss says one afternoon as Gale lounges under the poplar tree and she sits plucking at blades of carefully manicured grass before tossing them aside._

_“Those ads you shoot pull in much money?”_

_“Not as much as you’d think. At least not until I’m moved up to the next league,” Katniss says and scowls at him, confused how he knows about any of that part of her life. He sees her expression and reaches for his bag._

_“You’re famous,” he says and tosses a copy of_ Biathlon World, _the official publication of IBU onto her lap. She’s really not famous. At least not outside of a small circle of people. “You never mentioned that.”_

_She opens her mouth and he shakes his head, speaks before she can. “I know, I never asked. I guess I just don’t get it. Why or how you even started in that sport. It’s so… European.”_

_“I’m good at it,” she says._

_“How good?”_

_“Better than a lot of people,” she snaps and he smiles._

_“I’m sure you are. But what do you get out of it? What difference does it make? You smile for their cameras, shoot their ads, shoot their targets, and how many of them know the real you?”_

_“They don’t need to know the real me,” she huffs and throws the magazine back at him. “Can we talk about something else?”_

_“Sure, just never figured you for a professional entertainer is all. Seems like a lot of work for not much in return,” he says before they change the subject._

_It’s a prickly summer night when Gale confesses to her that it’s not enough. What he’s been bringing home from the country club and the mechanic’s shop. So he found something else. A way to support his family, take care of them._

_“Vick deserves a chance. To go to school and study his books. Maybe change the way things are. And Rory...he’s worth a lot more than what old man Cray is paying him at the garage. He could run his own place some day. Who knows what Posy could be capable of if given the chance.”_

_They’re on the edges of a river in the mountains, his truck parked behind them. Katniss sitting back on her elbows._

_“I’m never getting married. Or having kids,” she says and his laugh is just a short puff of air. “Too complicated with...everything.”_

_“Kids are expensive. And we’ve already got enough of them to worry about,” he agrees. Then his voice softens. “If we didn’t…”_

_“But we do,” she says and watches him toss a pebble into the water._

_“Yeah,” he says and they lay in silence, broken only by the occasional croak or splash of fish from the water. “I joined the army.”_

_She sits up and examines his profile. His clenched jaw and clenched hands. She’s stunned. For all his justified talk and rants about their world, this is not the path she expected him to take._

_“Pays good money. I can get at least Vick and Posy listed as my dependents, cover their healthcare. Opens up some scholarship opportunities for them both. If I live on post and keep my expenses down, they’re all taken care of.” She has no idea what to say and lets the silence grow until he breaks it again. “So I’m leaving next week for boot camp. Fort Benning. In Georgia.”_

_Katniss leans over and kisses his cheek. His lips when he turns his face to her. One kiss turns into three. Into four._

_She clings to the feelings of being filled as they move together. They’re both sticky and sweaty when they’re done. Her back and legs streaked with dirt and bits of plants. And when he pulls away, she feels hollow inside. He takes her home and she showers, scrubbing her skin and still hollowed out._

_The next time he kisses her, she doesn’t hesitate to take it further, craving that feeling only achieved when he’s pumping her towards release. But once again, it’s fleeting. She feels worse after than she did before._

_But he’s leaving soon. She guesses that’s why it feels awful afterwards._

_“I love you,” he whispers the night before he leaves and her fingers curl into him._

_“I know,” she whispers back, unable to say any more than that. He comes with a groan and she turns her head to the side, angry with herself when she can’t join him._

_The next day, Katniss blindfolds her sister, drives her across town then leads her into the apartment she and Haymitch picked out, a place for the girls to live, closer to the school Prim chose than the tiny house in the mountains._

_“Oh my gosh!” Prim gasps and spreads her arms before falling back onto the couch._

_“Don’t get too comfortable,” Katniss says and smiles at Prim’s joy. “We’re meeting Haymitch in half an hour to go book shopping.”_

_“Thank you! Thank you!” Prim squeals and flings herself into Katniss’ arms. She stands there and drinks it all in. The embrace, the fleeting feel of mattering to someone. Stores away her sister’s happiness to take with her on the trail again. To enjoy in the moments when she doesn’t have a race to focus on and distract her from the emptiness picking at the edge of her control._

* * *

I wander the airport and get myself a coffee. Even though I usually don’t drink the stuff. I hold onto it and let the warmth leach through to my palms. Close my eyes and let the scent of it waft into my nostrils.

My dad used to drink this stuff by the pot and my mother always made sure there was hot coffee ready for him. They adored each other. My parents. I think about how she used to light up whenever he’d enter the room. The way she would hum along and dance whenever he would sing. My father had a beautiful voice. So lovely that my mother used to say even the birds stopped to listen when he sang. I remember how my father would laugh easier when she was around. Sing more often just for her. The way he was drawn to touch her, bring her hand to his lips for no apparent reason. How he patiently taught her bits of the language of his ancestors so that both Prim and I would know it, too.

“You might wanna bring that with you.” Haymitch interrupts my reverie and nods towards my coffee.

I scowl at him and follow. As much as I’d like to complain to him about my too soon awakening this morning, right now, I can’t. He did manage to get us out of the hotel and into the airport without any press related encounters. The guys on the team even stepped up and caused a distraction at the hotel that I suspect Haymitch and Twill helped orchestrate.

We approach a table where the ladies’ half of the team is gathered. Wiress has her crutches leaning against the table, her leg still in a brace and propped up on a chair. Bonnie, Madge, and Bristel have their heads bent together, talking furiously while Twill scrolls through her phone and adds an occasional comment. Bristel sees us approach first and clears her throat. The others stop talking.

My steps falter. I don’t want to intrude or ruin what fragile rapport I’ve built with them the past month. Haymitch keeps walking towards them and adds a chair to the seating, motions for me to take it. I sink into it, grip my cup and take a hasty sip, trying not to choke on the bitter taste. It needs sugar or something.

“My vote is still for Katniss,” Bristel says, her eyes meeting mine and holding, almost a challenge.

“Bringing up someone from cup will disrupt their season, screw with their points. It wouldn’t be fair to do that to them,” Madge adds and Wiress nods.

“Hold on, we don’t have to field a 4x6 at all,” Bonnie says softly. “We could just do the mixed relays. With three of us, we still have enough for one doubles and one singles relay team.”

“I agree,” Wiress says. “ So Katniss or no one.”

“What are we voting on?” I snap and all eyes turn to me.

“Wiress is out for the season,” Twill explains and clears her throat. “Torn tendon.”

“She could recover in time,” Bonnie says and Wiress shakes her head.

“Girls, as much as I would love to see this through...it’s not worth pushing myself and not recovering fully, potentially injuring myself further and ruining your chances at decent finishes because of my pride.”

It all clicks together and my stomach churns. I can’t quite absorb it all and turn around to face Haymitch. “You told me she was okay!”

“I am okay,” Wiress soothes, placing her hand on mine for just a second. “Or I will be in six weeks to six months depending on what the doctors back home decide I need. The ones here think it’ll be surgery and at least six months, though.”

“In the meantime, we need to decide who’s taking Wiress’ place in the 4x6 for the rest of the season.”

“Or if we’re running it at all.”

“Like I said,” Bristel interjects. “My vote is for Katniss. She’s a strong competitor, she’s already up in this level so it won’t mess with her points, she’s going to Korea anyways, and we all know her already … a little.”

Her eyes meet mine again and she smiles. I search for anger or malice or jealousy, but I can’t find it.

“Gloss says ‘no,’” Bonnie argues. “Remember?”

“Screw Gloss!” Bristel smacks her hand on the table. “He’s the cause of this mess! He’s the one who said all that crap to Wiress and made her push herself too far. She shouldn’t have even run the mass start!”

I glance at Wiress who shifts in her seat and plays with her crutches. I think about how she fell at the end of the sprint and wonder if it could be true. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. So many of us put everything into our races and wind up laying or sitting in the snow when we’ve got nothing left. But could it have been something else in her case? An already stressed tendon that needed rest.

“Wiress?” I whisper and she shakes her head.

“I did it to myself,” she whispers. “I didn’t have to let him get to me.”

Anger fills me and my fingers dent my coffee cup.

“What did he say about me?” I ask Bristel because I know she’s the one who won’t mince words or lie to protect my feelings.

“That you’re already at a disadvantage because...nevermind. It’s dumb what he said. We all know it is. But that’s the reason they took you off relay in the first place. Yes to keep you rested for the individual stuff but also because Gloss thought you’d only cause a rift on a team with us and it would be too much for you to handle. Would ruin your chances at a medal in the Olympics.”

“Because what?” I ask. And then I know as soon as it’s out of my mouth. Because the way Gloss looks at me reminds me so much of the Hendersons. Of Peeta’s mother. It’s because I don’t look like them. I’m not like them so in his eyes, I need extra help. Special treatment.

Fury trips through me and Haymitch steps towards me to calm me. Madge gets there first, placing her hand soothingly over mine.

“None of us believe that garbage for a second,” she says then turns to the others. “I vote the same way. Katniss or no one. But only if she wants to.”

“Bonnie?” Twill asks and Bonnie looks between us all.

“She’s gonna make us all look like lazy pogues out there, but yes. Katniss or no one.”

“I don’t have time or patience to train up a relative newbie when we’ve already got one of the best skiers I’ve had the pleasure to coach right here,” Twill says. I feel like there’s a weight pressing on my shoulders. A new expectation.

“So what do you say?” Britel asks me.

“Can I...think about it? At least for today?” I ask and the others nod. I stumble away from the table, disoriented and confused. Throw away my half drunk coffee. My hands shake as I find a quiet spot and call Peeta. Haymitch leans against the wall nearby but I ignore him for now.

“Katniss?”

“Can we…talk?” I can’t get much further than that and Peeta sighs.

“I’m so glad to hear from you. I was still worried about that video--”

“That’s not why I called,” I cut him off and plunge ahead with the real reason. “Wiress is out for the season with a torn tendon.”

“Is she...okay?” I know what Peeta’s asking. Not if she’s okay bodily but mentally.

“She seems to be.” I give him a quick rundown of what she just told me. “They want to put me back on relay.”

“Really? That’s great,” Peeta says and I’m surprised at his enthusiasm.

“Why?”

“Hearing you talk about them, watching the pictures of you all together as you post them...you’re already a part of that team, Katniss. If they want you, and you want in, then you should go for it. Who knows, maybe something amazing will happen.”

Haymitch taps my shoulder then and I look up at him. “We’re boarding. Wrap it up.”

I nod as he walks away, towards our gate.  

“I have to go, Peeta. The plane is boarding.”

“It’ll be good to have you back on this side of the world,” he says and I grab hold of my hummingbird charm.

Back on that side of the world. Back home. For the first time in almost a decade, my heart actually skips at the thought of going home. Away from all of this, if only for a short while.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” I say and stand on steady legs. I sit next to Haymitch on the plane and stare out the window, watch the sun as we chase it back towards the west. My music and Peeta’s words in my ears. The conviction of the team that they want me, without reservation.

Katniss or no one, they all said. So when we land in Chicago, before we make it to customs, I find Twill and Bonnie.

“I’m in,” I say and Bonnie whoops, throwing her arms around me. Twill and Haymitch discuss additional training dates during the break. We don’t need much, since I’ve run relays before. Just a day or two to get used to the trade-off and what order we’ll ski. It’s only when I’m on the next plane, headed towards Colorado that reality sinks in and I sit bolt upright.

“What days did Twill say we’d train back in Maine?”

“Nineteenth through the twenty-second. I know it’s a quick turn around but--”

“Damnit!” I cut him off and he blinks at me, waiting for an explanation. I tell him and he stares at me for a moment longer, and then I sigh. “I really hope Peeta understands.”

He should, though. He was all for me doing this. Granted he didn’t know that it’d erase four days or so that we could’ve spent together at the time, but I don’t think he’ll hold it against me. I hope he doesn’t, at least.

When I tell him, there’s a long pause on his end and then his voice, warm and encouraging. “It’s okay, Katniss. There will be other camps. And you guys need the time to gel as a team. Besides, I’ll be in Colorado after Christmas for the circus. We’ll see each other then.”

I relax into the car seat and glance out the window to see how far we are from home. Almost there. I start dreaming about curling up on the couch and eating popcorn with Prim while we pretend to watch the TV on mute and she cuddles with that stupid cat and I fall asleep when the jet lag becomes too much.

By the time I get home, Gertrude has already returned to Wyoming. As soon as NBC got wind of a potential story in regards to Peeta and I, they swooped in to shut down the competition. The Olympics and Paralympics are theirs, was the basic message, and while I should be thankful that they dealt with the mess before it could get out of hand, that sort of power and its implications also frightens me.

The next few days fly by in a blur spent with Prim and before I know it, I’m on another plane. By myself this time and headed to Maine. It’s a whirlwind four days of training, working with the girls to ensure our trade-offs are smooth and flawless. Since we actually have some time to breathe, Twill pairs us off for more focused training. I shoot with Madge and she improves markedly. Bonnie and I work on smoother skiing together. Bristel and I meditate and find calm. We reach some strange sort of understanding after she apologizes to me for the way she acted at the start of the season. I think I get it, the pressure she put herself under and how that affected her ability to be kind. We’ll see how long it lasts, but for now I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

As much as I feel burned by social media right now, Prim assures me that almost everything she’s seeing is positive. So one day, I venture a suggestion with the girls, and they love it. Twill takes the picture while we sit cross legged in a line in the snow, our skis across our laps and our hands up in the air as we shrug.

_No gelato in Maine. So sad._

Followed an hour later by a shot of us in an ice cream parlor with wide smiles and heaping bowls.

_Oh wait! Ice cream season!!!_

It seems to go over well. Even Wiress comments on it that she wishes she could joins us, but she adds a picture of herself with a bowl of ice cream and the tag #solidarity.

Every night, Peeta calls right before I head to bed. I tell him about training and listen to him talking about his campers. There’s one night when I’m too exhausted and I know I’m not being a decent girlfriend, nodding off while he speaks. He picks up on it and apologizes for keeping me awake.

“No, s’okay,” I slur and he chuckles.

“Katniss, get some sleep. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Arnold Gloss stops by to check on our progress from time to time. His lips purse and I can tell he’s pissed that he got overruled this time. The only thing that keeps me from fumbling and screwing up when he’s there is Madge announcing a “Manscaping Sighting” and the laughter of the others. They all seem determined to succeed, to perform better than any US team has previously, just to spite him.

I like these girls.

The only real dark spot is that the nightmares have returned. The sea of faces morphed into the snow beneath my skis, bucking and rolling as I try to reach for something. A gaping chasm and strings holding me suspended over it before they snap and I am swallowed by the ground. It’s only a few days, I tell myself. Only a few days of training and then I’ll be back home in my own bed and the visions will hopefully leave me alone.

On our last night with all of us in Maine, my three teammates drag me out for a night of fun. A girls’ night. Something I’ve never done before.

It’s surprisingly...fun. Bristel winds up with a guy’s phone number and when we ask her if things are okay with her boyfriend, she shakes her head and fiddles with her hair.

“We broke up about a week after the season started.” Her words cut through me and I’m the one to offer condolences first. Madge orders another round for us and Bristel smiles at me, the expression sad. “He didn’t...trust me. All those stupid rumors about the Olympics being nothing but a giant orgy. He started thinking our regular season must be like that too, and any little...thing I did wrong. Any delay in me returning his calls…”

“You don’t need that stress,” I tell her. Our drinks arrive then and as Bristel throws back a shot, I can only feel thankful that I’ve got Peeta. I’m not sure I could do any better where supportive boyfriends are concerned. But then I think about the TAS camp I’m missing and how I haven’t been there for him as much as I’d have liked.

Before I can get lost in melancholy, Bristel drags Madge onto the stage for karaoke. Bonnie and I lose it at how off key but enthusiastic they are.

As fast as training days fly, the holidays fly even faster and one day, I find myself in the airport again. This time, I’m not flying but waiting just past security, standing on my toes until I get a glimpse of his blonde hair. I throw up a hand to wave when the crowds part enough for me to see his face and Peeta’s smile makes everything else disappear until I’m wrapped up in his arms.

While the embrace lasts, I feel like nothing else matters. Just him and me, clinging to one another and guarding against the hurts that the world flings without discrimination and sometimes without aim. I hide my face up against his neck and close my eyes. We must stand like that for at least ten minutes before either of us can bear to move. Even when we do, I stay tucked in his side while we walk to baggage claim for his things.

Our words stutter and stop on the way back to my apartment, dancing around the one thing we really should talk about.

“So Gramps is settled in with Haymitch,” I tell Peeta, feeling a little bad that Prim and I can’t put him up for the few days they’re in town. We just don’t have enough beds and I selfishly want Peeta with me since I rarely get to see him. But at least this way, Gramps is someplace comfortable and not stuck in a hotel room. He flew down yesterday, but Peeta had a rush on a board that he had to finish before he could leave.

“Good. He said he wanted an extra day to relax and maybe see the area since it’s been awhile since he came down here. Gertrude is running Skadi for a few days.”

“Oh boy,” I say. “Hope those skiers have their lift passes in order.”

Peeta laughs and twines our fingers together while we’re stopped at a light. Prim’s gone for the day, working a shift at the clinic, so when we reach the front door of our apartment, I have zero reservations.

I’m on him before the thing is even locked behind us. His hands fumble behind him to finish locking out the world and as soon as I hear the tumblers click into place, I drag him towards my room, flinging clothes as we go. I manage to get both our shirts off and my jeans off one handed, but I trip over them and we don’t make it to my room, going down in the hallway. I writhe beneath him and hold his lips to mine. His hands tear at the fastenings of his jeans and as soon as they’re in downward motion off his hips, I grab hold of him, stroke him, getting him as hard as I am wet. He moans into my mouth and I wrap my legs around him, to shove myself up onto him.

“Holy fuck!” he curses, our motions disjointed as I desperately try to get myself off on him and he can’t quite catch up on the pace I need. When he does, our bodies slap together and he buries his face in the crook of my neck. I ignore the burn of the carpet on my back as we fuck and light sparkles behind my eyes then dissipates, returns and I reach for it, clinging to his shoulders. His pace slackens and I whine.

“Don’t stop, Peeta. Please don’t stop.”

Peeta groans and he keeps going. I have the brief thought that maybe he slowed down because we’re hurting his leg. My building release dissipates but before I can suggest moving or changing positions, his motions stutter. His hips slam into me and he pants for a second or two while I try to orient myself, my body still desperate, denied as he holds still save for the twitching of his cock inside me. “Fuck. I couldn’t -- oh god, Katniss.”

He pulls out of me then, and I whimper, feeling bereft at the loss of him, but he cups his hands on my ass and stretches out on the floor with my legs pushed wide open. And then his mouth is on me and I’m still so sensitive that I scream, my legs clamping around his head as fire burns straight through me from his mouth, making the carpet burn seem like the tickle of a feather. I brace my hands on the nearest stretch of wall and thrash as he sucks and licks and I’m stretched so taut so fast that I can do nothing but snap with profanity on my lips and my body bucking uncontrollably.

When I can hold onto a thought, I lift my head for just a second before I have to drop it back down, too spent from my release to manage much of anything resembling movement. It was enough, though. Enough to see Peeta lying between my limp and once more spread wide legs, his face buried in the crease of my thigh and groin, shaking back and forth as he moans apologies. His fingers clenching into my ass.

“I tried to wait. I’m so sorry Katniss. Couldn’t stop it,” he repeats. I reach down and run my fingers through his hair.

“Sorry for what?”

He lifts his head to look up at me and I smile at the sight of him, the entire lower half of his face glistening and messy with what I can only assume is a mixture of his release and mine. I look around us and laugh.

“We didn’t even make it out of the hallway,” I say and he laughs too. Then he struggles to his feet and helps me up. We stagger the rest of the way to my room and collapse in bed, his arms wrapped around me and my face pressed close to his chest. That’s how we fall asleep. Wrapped in each other’s arms and sated. Exactly what I needed.

When I wake, he’s still sound asleep. I slip from his hold on me and tug on some clothes before tiptoeing out to the hall to clean up our mess. Only, there’s a pile of our clothes right next to the door along with Peeta’s bags. Prim, I realize. Prim must have come home and dealt with our mess. I stifle a groan and head out to find her. She’s curled up on the couch, spooning food into her mouth and reading a book.

“I’ll assume from the trail of clothes and stench of sex when I got home today that you two are okay?” Prim says and lifts her eyes to look at me as I drop onto the couch in front of her.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” I ask and Prim shrugs.

“Just making sure,” she says and sets aside her book. We talk quietly as day stretches into night. Eventually, she looks up and smiles at something behind me and I turn to find Peeta, dressed but clearly only half awake, leaning against the doorframe. My stomach growls then, reminding me that neither of us ate dinner.

“My thoughts exactly,” Peeta says.

We scrounge together dinner and eat. Prim picks out a movie and the three of us watch it, although she keeps falling asleep. I nudge her with my foot halfway through and she stumbles off to bed with apologies. Peeta and I leave the dishes in the sink, to take care of in the morning, seized with another moment of desperation.

My bed squeaks a little as I ride him and his hands smooth over my skin. I come hard and bite my lip to contain the things I want to say. But not like this. Not when there are so many things undecided between us.

As we lay in bed after, Peeta’s hands sliding over my arms and keeping me warm, I finally can’t take anymore. Tomorrow we’ll be faced with all the questions I’ve been dreading. Haymitch sent over the times and places we’re expected, and I’m with Peeta for everything. Normally that would calm me. In this case, it feels almost ominous.

“Peeta, what are we going to say tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers and curls some of my hair around his finger. “The truth, I guess? Unless you don’t want to…”

I rest my chin over his heart and our eyes meet in the darkness. “I don’t want to,” I admit. “But I don’t see how we can’t.”

“Okay,” he says and takes a deep breath. “Then I guess we just have to decide what we keep to ourselves.”

I rub my temple as I think about it and Peeta shifts beneath me. I know I don’t want to talk about his mother or what she said to me, or anything really about who was whose guardian and why or why not.

“I don’t really want to talk about my parents’ divorce,” Peeta starts and I stare down at him, his eyes focused off to the side. “Or what led to it.”

I duck my head and kiss over his sternum, wishing I could erase that pain and tangle of blame from his heart. “I don’t want to talk about why we went to Michigan instead of staying at Skadi.”

He nods and we fall silent. There’s so much more that I wish we could keep to ourselves. It’s already too late for so much of it. Graham’s video assured that. Peeta told me he already gave Graham an earful and his brother has promised not to post any more old pictures or videos without running them by Peeta first, or to answer any questions for us. But the damage has been done.

Except for this, I realize as I trace a fingernail over Peeta’s collarbone. There was nothing in that video that hinted at what we were growing into together as teenagers. No hint that in a few months after those images, we would kiss for the first time. That the accident would rob us of a first date and so much more.

We have a second chance now, and I don’t want to share that with the world. Wherever this is going, it belongs to me and to Peeta. No one else.

“This,” I whisper and Peeta lifts his head.

“What?”

I swallow and flatten my hand on his chest. “I don’t want to share any of this with them.”

“And by ‘this,’ you mean…” he trails off and I slide myself up his body to join our lips. When I end the kiss, I can’t read his eyes. “Us?”

I nod and his hands clench on me. He seems to be waiting for more of an explanation.

“A lot of people already know,” he says when I can’t find the right words.

“People who will understand if we explain,” I say and he scoots a little away from me before he sits up.

“I’m not sure that _I_ understand,” he says.

“We’re still...figuring things out. You have your season, I have mine. Gramps needs you at Skadi, Prim needs me here. It’s just too much,” I say and regret it as soon as I do, the look on his face. “No, Peeta. That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?” he asks, his voice calm and even but his hands clenched in his lap.

“I just don’t want to share this with the whole world for them to pick apart and use for ratings. I don’t want to be painted as the tragic lovers,” I whisper. “I wanted them to focus on what I did by myself those ten years, not my love life. I’m proud of what I did.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “But then Graham ruined that for you.”

I don’t say anything to that. We both know it’s true.

“Well,” he says and I can’t tell if his cheerfulness is forced or real. “We always were friends first, right?”

“Good friends,” I say. “Best friends.”

“There still might be people hoping for a romance,” he warns me and I nod.

“Which is another reason I don’t want to give it to them. I don’t want...that kind of pressure on us.”

“Okay,” he agrees and brings my hand up to his lips.

In the morning, he covers his side of the family and I cover mine, making sure everyone knows what bits and pieces are to be kept out of the story as much as possible. Prim gives me a sidelong look, but hugs me before we leave, tells me she’ll see me later.

Peeta and I are quiet on the drive in and as we stare up at the Olympic rings on the building, he reaches across to take my hand in his and squeeze.

“Let the show begin,” he says and we walk inside together.

It’s a bit of a madhouse with crews running around and athletes being ushered from one place to another. It’s not even all of us today, just the ones they could get into town. Others may have their press frenzy in their own towns. Others in New York. More on another day here.

Haymitch is already here and plays buffer between me and a thin man named Flavius. His short black hair is spiked and tipped in blue, a row of neon purple earrings along the outer lobe of his left ear distracts me as he turns my head side to side and covers me with makeup and then attacks my hair.

The woman working on Peeta has gold tattoos inked all up and down her arms and even her neck. She and Peeta seem to be engrossed in a happy conversation about graphics techniques and art while I’m forced to endure Flavius’ tweezers.

“Interviews first,” we’re told and ushered into a room with bright lights and cameras. Two chairs sit in the lights and a third in the shadows.

“Good morning, darlings. My name is Effie Trinket. An honor to meet you both. Please, have a seat. Relax. This will be completely painless.”

I snort and she eyes me as Peeta leads me towards the chairs. It takes her a moment of talking with someone behind the cameras to get the lights set up and then Peeta’s chair at the right angle and I’m sweating by the time she finally sits in her chair and sighs.

“Now dears, just focus on me and don’t worry about a thing over there. Editing will be done later.” She motions towards the camera, which of course grabs my attention so that I miss all the small talk leading into the first question. I look at Peeta and he picks up the ball.

“Katniss’ father taught skiing lessons at Skadi during the winters,” he says, his eyes soft. “And her mother was one of our onsite EMTs, eventually became the head of ski patrol.” My hand shakes and Peeta wraps his fingers around mine. That small bit of contact calms my nerves. He smiles and turns back to Effie and tells her the story of our first real interaction. The coloring page, the crayons, my invitation to ski.

“And you were instant friends?” Effie asks.

“Pretty much. I mean, she shared her hot chocolate with me,” Peeta says and I laugh as I remember more of that day.

A boy falling during the lesson and crying. Peeta flopping in the snow next to him and pointing out a bird’s nest in the tree over head. That miraculously stopped the boy’s tears. How we made a game of it. Every time after, when that boy fell, Peeta would join him and they’d find something interesting they wouldn't have noticed while they were upright before getting back up on their skis and continuing. The story is out of my mouth before I realize it.

I go into some sort of weird trance, answering questions and clinging to Peeta’s hand. Somehow knowing that he won’t let me fall. Or if we fall anyways, he’ll find a way to soften the impact. Find something good. Something to make the fall worthwhile. We manage to even laugh a few times as we talk about growing up at Skadi. Training for competitions and the fun to be found in between. Prim and her wounded animals. Ryen and his mischief. Gramps and his generosity. Haymitch’s visits and chess. Bram sneaking treats to us from the kitchen. My mother making it impossible to get away with anything. My father’s songs and gentle guidance.

Our friendship.

But inevitably, the interview turns to more serious things. Peeta’s grip on me tightens when she asks about the accident. I murmur my responses, unsure if I even make any sense. She seems almost astonished at what we went through. And we’re just at the beginning of the horror.

“So you...saved his life, Katniss?” she asks.

“She did,” Peeta says before I can answer. I smile at him, eyes misty and stomach in knots.

“He saved mine first.”

I go back into my weird space after that. Peeta answers most of the questions for me, although Effie does coax a few out of me. We gloss over the bits we don’t want to plumb too deeply, Peeta expertly guiding the conversation away from them. It feels like we’ve been sitting here forever and then Effie snags my attention.

“We’re almost done here, Katniss.”

“Lunch first and then photographs,” Peeta says with a smile.

“Oh thank goodness. Effie’s hat is starting to look appetizing,” I say.

“I think I brought some cranberry sauce in my bag,” Peeta offers.

“As long as it isn’t mustard.” Effie’s head bounces between us and her tinkling laughter fills the room.

“Well I’d say that ten years apart didn’t harm your relationship a bit! Now tell me, am I imagining things or are there hints of romance blossoming here?”

“He’s my best friend,” I tell her and Peeta takes it from there, mentioning how we reconnected. How we’ve always pushed each other to do better in our sports. Been there for each other. He’s the one to stress that I made it onto the Olympic team on my own, although his comments seem to fly right past Effie. She's done her social media homework. I can tell when she asks about my skis. I tell her that he made my skis and after we cover that, he talks about how I gave up crucial training time to travel to New Zealand for his return to competition. There are questions just for him about his recovery and return to competition. Questions about his experience so far with parasnowboarding. Questions just for me about the biathlon team and our gelato hunts. Wiress.

After a million questions, Effie thanks us and as soon as I’m outside of the room, I feel overheated and lean against a wall. Peeta’s hands rub up and down my arms. I drop my forehead onto his chest and listen to the sounds around us as the ringing in my ears gradually stops.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Peeta says and I nod. And really it wasn’t. I’m starting to think that I can handle this, as long as I’ve got Peeta with me along the way.

“There will be more.”

“Yeah. But that one’s over. Come on. Food. Now.”

“This is why we’re friends,” I say as we seek out the food and then a quiet corner to eat. Haymitch finds us and reminds us of our time for photos.

“You’ll be back here in a few days to get pictures with the biathlon team, Katniss,” he says and then ushers us off for makeup and hair refresh, then to the spot where wardrobe has set up.

Hidden behind a partition, I stare at the bag with my name on it and slowly unzip. Close my eyes and place my hand on the heavy white coat lined with dark blue. The flag on the sleeve. For some reason, this more than anything else that has happened today, makes it hit home.

I dress quickly but get held up by a discussion about my hair and if I should wear the beanie or not. Eventually, the beanie is rejected and I am approved. Haymitch hands me my skis then moves me to another room where lights already flash every few seconds, followed by instructions. Peeta’s soft comment and someone’s laugh. I stand off to the side and watch him lift his board to set it on his shoulders, behind his head. Bindings and the words printed in orange bracketing his ears. His is different. His coat is different from mine. Blue with stars around his belly. USA emblazoned on his chest over broad, horizontal red and white stripes.

His eyes find me and he smiles. For one second, my heart stops. And then the camera flashes.

“Good. I think that’s enough for individual. Do we have -- ah! There you are!” I’m greeted by a bubbly and buxom woman in leggings and a Mighty Mouse t-shirt. Her dark hair studded with sparkling red clips and her lips and nails painted in fuschia. “I’m Octavia. My apologies for the rush, but we’ve got to keep things moving.”

“And you two are the latecomers!” I hear Graham shout from across the room.

“Holding up the show as usual, Runt,” Ryen says and Peeta frowns at them. I can’t see them with the spread of backdrops and lights creating so many shadows. I wonder what they’re doing here, in this room. I knew they were in town for the same reason as Peeta. Then I have no room for wondering.

Octavia positions me next to Peeta with my skis in one hand, tells him not to move and then hurries back into the shadows.

“It suits you,” Peeta murmurs and I can’t help the smile that curves my lips.

“You, too,” I whisper and the camera flashes.

“Don’t mind me. Just keep smiling,” Octavia insists and snaps a few of us looking at the camera. With our gear held differently. No gear in our hands. Then she has Peeta step aside to snap a few pictures of just me.

I’m breathless and ready to get out of there, but we’re not done yet. Before I can even ask, Octavia ushers Peeta and I into a corner where a harried looking assistant urges us to take off the heavier snow pants and coats, swapping them out for fleece lined half-zip pullovers. When I turn around, Octavia has Ryen and Graham standing on the backdrop. They’re dressed much like we are, the four of us an assortment of red, white, and blue. She arranges Peeta and I between the two of them as her assistant sets up a chair in front. Then she’s helping Gramps sit in the chair and I realize what this is. Haymitch mentioned it when he rattled off our schedule and I didn’t even stop to think about it.

A family portrait.

I balk. I shouldn’t be in this.

“Katniss isn’t smiling,” Ryen whines.

“Probably because you smell funny,” Peeta tells him.

“Does it make you laugh?”

“Your face makes me laugh.”

“Do I need to separate you two?” Graham adds in a stern voice and the whole thing is so ridiculous that I snort and then I am smiling. Hit with so many memories of the three of them driving each other and everyone around them insane.

“At least he has real facial hair now instead of that thing that looked more like he didn’t know to use a razor,” I say and Graham laughs. Gramps’ shoulders shake a little. He leans back to smile at me. Peeta squeezes my hand.

Maybe I do belong in this picture. I’m able to smile more easily after that.

“I heard there’s ice cream later,” Ryen says in between shots.

“Don’t tease,” I say through my teeth, earning a few more chuckles. The boys keep it up, firing off jokes almost as fast as Octavia fires away with her camera.

“Do I even want to risk asking for a goofy picture?” Octavia asks, peeking around her camera at us.

“No!” Graham, Peeta and I all say, drowning out Ryen’s “Yes!”

When Octavia finally releases us, Gramps gives me a quick hug and Ryen grabs Peeta around the neck to drag his head down and mess up his hair. I watch the three brothers for a moment, fighting a pang of sadness. This should have happened eight years ago. But at least it’s possible now.

The others head off for lunch or to deal with their own interviews, leaving Peeta and I alone in the hallway. I collapse into his embrace. We stand in the shadows as the world moves on around us, feeling each other and the comfort to be found in one another’s arms.

“We’re really going,” I say.

“We are,” he murmurs.

We’re able to step apart after that and separate to change back into our regular clothes. I’m a little sweaty and overheated and find a bathroom. I’m washing my hands when the door swings open and a petite, thin woman with her short blond hair swept forward enters.

My pulse pounds as I watch her in the mirror, enter a stall and shut the door. I shake my head and splash more water on my face.

I’m seeing things. I must be seeing things.

I’m frozen and drying my hands at snail's pace when she emerges and steps up to the sink three down from mine.

I’m not seeing things at all. But I am staring.

As I watch her face in the mirror in front of her, unable to look directly at her, my stomach departs my body. My tongue ties in my mouth and I’m overheated again. Sweating unpleasantly as I hurry from the room, drying my hands the rest of the way on my jeans.

I run into Haymitch first and babble to him while he tries to calm me down. I finally manage one decent question. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

“Who?” Haymitch asks, brow furrowed.

“Agnes,” I say and he shakes his head.

“She shouldn’t be here. Eirik made it clear she was not to be included in any of the family pictures or interviews.”

“They wanted to include her?” I screech and Haymitch glances around.

“They did at first. Maybe you just saw someone who looked like her.”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” I shake my head. I’m still in a daze from the pictures and interviews and now I can’t be sure. It’s been ten years but you don’t forget the face associated with so many of your nightmares.

“Just to be safe...” Haymitch starts and I finish.

“We need to get Peeta away from here.” Because that’s the last thing Peeta needs in his life. A run-in with his mother.

We find him talking with Graham near the doors, and I’m glad that we’re at least close to an exit.

“Katniss, I owe you an apology.”

“Apology accepted,” I say to Graham and his eyes widen as I grab Peeta and drag him out the door, leaving Haymitch to guard our retreat.

“Katniss slow down. Where are we going?”

“I need some air.”

“My board--”

“Haymitch will bring it later,” I say as we reach my car and Peeta’s feet slip on ice. His hand shoots out and smacks into my car as he catches his balance.

“Katniss, seriously. Stop.” He says and I turn to him. I whip out my phone and text Haymitch about Peeta’s board and my skis, show it to Peeta.

“There. Taken care of,” I say.

“What has gotten into you?” he asks, fingers brushing my cheek. “You’re burning up.”

“I’ll be fine when we get back to the apartment. I just want to get away from here right now,” I whisper. I feel awful lying to him, but the truth might be worse.

“Okay,” he says. “Do you want me to drive?”

I nod and Peeta doesn’t need more than that, opening my door for me and climbing in without any further argument. When we make it to the safety of my place, I release a breath of relief, pulling on my sweater because I’m hot and sweaty again. Prim’s at work this afternoon and Peeta’s phone chimes before I can suggest a shower.

“Gramps wants to know if we can all get together for dinner tonight before he and I head back to Wyoming tomorrow. He’s already asked Prim and she said she could make it.”

“Sure,” I say and Peeta answers for us both while I try to shake the weird feeling in my stomach. “I’m going to take a shower. Those lights were a little much.”

“Okay,” he says, but before I can ask him to join me, he shows me his phone and a huge number of e-mails. “I’m gonna get caught up real quick.”

I would be annoyed, but they all look like they’re through his business accounts. He washed off the makeup before we left and it’s only now that I’m getting a good look at his face that I realize he’s got circles under his eyes again. Did he not sleep well last night? And how come I didn’t notice? I feel awful and wind my arms around him to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t take too long.” He nods and I climb into the shower, blasting my body with cool water and scrubbing off the makeup and sweat and the strangeness of the day. As I dry off, though, another kind of thrill goes through me.

She already tried to tear us apart. And while it may have worked ten years ago, the eventual results were beyond her control. We found our way back to each other anyways. Her poison didn’t work. Not in the long run.

I towel dry my hair and slip silently back to my room, watch Peeta for a moment as he taps away at something on his tablet screen. There’s a _woosh_ indicating a sent e-mail and he looks up at me. His blue eyes skim my towel clad body and his mouth opens slightly. I step into my room and shut the door, just in case. Although Prim isn’t supposed to be home for a few hours, Haymitch has a key to our place. And I don’t want any interruptions.

I walk over to the bed where he sits and drop the towel. “You’re done working for now.”

Peeta sets aside the tablet, his hands automatically working his belt and jeans open, eyes roaming hungrily over me. I lift my foot and plant it on his chest, pushing him back onto the bed. He mutters curse words as he shoves down his jeans and I crawl over him to kiss his chest through his shirt. Bite a few spots as his hips jerk and he finally gets his pants off, scrambles up the bed and pulls me with him.

Our lips meet and I slide my hands through his hair. His hands caress my skin until we’re both breathless and unable to wait. We’re still kissing as he aligns our bodies and I sink onto him. I sit up and begin the dance, rocking and then rolling my hips over him, smiling at the scattered phrases he whispers to me. I’m in no rush, my motions leisurely and yet oh so delicious in the way he gazes up at me and responds to everything I do.

He sits up to hold me close and shower me with kisses, even as our hips still move together. And it feels so good. I mumble incoherently as I get closer, almost afraid to reach the end and find that there’s nothing after, but Peeta lays back with me still in his arms and holds me tight as I shatter. Once. Keep going. Twice with a scream of his name. Unable to stop the third as he holds my hips still above him and drives up into me and his words break something loose inside me.

“I love -- love -- everything -- you -- Katniss,” he moans brokenly when we’re both caught in the storm.

After, his fingers trace over my shoulders, soothing me to sleep with his heartbeat steady against my cheek.

There’s sleep. Dreamless and so welcome. Then dinner surrounded by our family.

Graham and Savannah with all four of their daughters, scattered around the table. One next to Peeta and I smile as I watch them interacting. Prim sits between me and Graham, with Ryen on the opposite side of the table. I can’t help the noticing the way Ryen’s gaze keeps wandering back to Prim. She seems completely unaffected by his presence. Relieved, I hold Peeta’s hand beneath the table and laugh at Haymitch badgering Eirik for his lackluster chess skills as of late.

“I won’t go easy on you just because of a tiny little thing like a heart attack.”

“I would be insulted if you did. It’s a lack of decent competitors,” Eirik grouses and motions towards Peeta. “My usual sparring partner is distracted lately.”

Peeta’s hand squeezes mine beneath the table and he leans close. “Wonder who on earth has been distracting me.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” I tease back.

It’s not until I’m halfway asleep in bed that night, with Peeta’s arms wrapped around me, his bags already packed and ready to go back to Wyoming, that his words from earlier sink in, catalyzed by his whispers that I’m not even sure are real. I might be imagining the whole thing in the haze between darkness and dreams before I slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“I love you, Katniss. Always.”


	22. A Blind Jump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost posted this chapter to the wrong story. We've hit that critical phase where I can see the glowing green circle that says complete at the end of the tunnel and I want to get it done. Now. Which means there might be more of those pesky editing errors.

_He laces his fingers together and then unlaces them. His left foot bouncing nervously as he waits. Unsure what to think or feel. One minute passes. Then two. His eyes fixed on the digital alarm next to the bed. Five minutes. Six._

_The bathroom door opens and Lavinia steps out, tosses a plastic stick into the trash can under the sink as Peeta sits up straight, searching for words. She shakes her head and his shoulders deflate as she washes her hands. He doesn’t move when she sits across from him, on the other double bed in the room._

_“Well that’s…”_

_“A relief,” she finishes for him and he runs one hand through his hair. Nods slowly, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth for a few minutes. “So…”_

_She trails off, plunging them back into awkward silence. “I can take you to the airport if you want. I’ll cover the change fee for your flight.”_

_“No,” she shakes her head, her eyes focused on the stock picture over the bed he’s sitting on. “I’ll stay. I don’t want to make things awkward with your family today.”_

_“It’s fine,” Peeta says and Lavinia sighs, looks at him from under her furrowed brows. He laces his fingers back together. “Sorry. I just -- thought you might not want to stick around. You’ve already burned two days of time off.”_

_“You were my friend first, Peeta. Before all of this. I don’t mind playing the part today so you’re not dealing with questions.”_

_“Thanks,” he says dryly and she moves to sit next to him. “What was it this time?”_

_“I don’t know,” she admits with a lift of her shoulder. “A lot of little things that just added up to being too much. I think...maybe we shouldn’t have tried again or maybe we were better off as friends.”_

_“Complicated things with sex,” he agrees, thinking of how they got started. Stress relief fucking._

_“Accidental relationships,” she continues. They just sort of woke up one day with everyone thinking they were dating so they started acting like they were. “Although the sex was the one thing we seemed to be consistently good at together. Maybe a little too good at it.” She motions towards the discarded pregnancy test in the trash can._

_He laughs with no humor behind it. Because he’s not as happy as he should be about the negative result. That’s not right. He’s just got his skis and boards starting to sell. He’s been gradually taking on more responsibilities at home. He still hasn’t even graduated yet, although all of his friends have. Lavinia graduated in May. Just started working in Sacramento. Her dream job. They’re only twenty-two. Neither of them needs the added complication of a kid on top of long distance and everything else right now, and yet...his heart jolted, not unpleasantly, at the first thought of being a father._

_“I want someone who’s going to adore me. Who I know would go to great lengths for me,” Lavinia admits, bringing her knees up to her chest to hug them. He looks back down at his hands in shame. Because he should have been that person for her, given how long they’ve been together, although it has been off and on._

_“And it’s not that I think you don’t care for me. But I think sometimes you do things because you’re supposed to if we’re together. I want someone who does those things on instinct. I want to be with someone and know that when we say ‘I love you,’ it’s out of passion and conviction. Not...kindness or because one of us said it first for whatever reason we thought we meant it at the time. I mean...I guess I love you. But I don’t think it’s in love-love.”_

_He scrambles his memory, searching for who said it first. When. How. He thinks it might’ve been him, but he can’t remember for certain. And that’s just sad._

_“You deserve that,” Peeta says. “All of it.”_

_“And we’re just...comfortable together, I think. Used to one another. It’d work fine, maybe, I think but...”_

_She trails off again with a sigh. The silence grows between them as he bites his tongue to keep from begging her for another chance. Because he doesn’t know if he wants the chance for them or because failing at this -- again -- being alone, terrifies him. He’s not sure how he keeps messing it up. They’ve been drifting apart again since she graduated and moved north, but when he’d met her at the airport yesterday, he’d been hoping to fix that. Take her out for a romantic dinner. Show her the mountains, but before he could even hug her, she dropped two bombs on him._

I might be pregnant. And I think we should break up. For good.

_He takes a deep breath, and at least his next words seem to be what she needs to hear._

_“Maybe we just held on too long. Missed all the signs that it was time to quit.”_

_“Probably.” She leans over and kisses his cheek. “You deserve the same thing, you know. You’re a great guy and one day, you’ll be an amazing dad.”_

_“Just not now?”_

_“And not with me. We’re just not...going in the same direction. You’re going back to Wyoming after graduation. I don’t want to leave Sacramento. We’re just fooling ourselves if we think whatever we have is gonna survive that.”_

_He nods again and she stands. They gather their clothes for later in the day and walk in silence out to his Jeep. More silence on the drive. She stares out the window at the passing mansions, the mountains grand in the distance. When he pulls into the drive, he shifts in his seat and she sits up straighter. He parks and opens the door for her, helps her out and turns to face his father._

_“Right on time,” Bram says as he descends the front steps two at a time. “Lovely to see you again, Lavinia.”_

_“Likewise, Mr. Mellark. Congratulations,” Lavinia says with a bright smile as Peeta’s dad slaps him on the shoulder and then hugs her._

_“Thank you. Mary says to tell you to stand off to the left for the bouquet toss and she’ll cut you a break,” Bram says with a smile. Lavinia laughs and Peeta hides his cringing at how fake it sounds to his ears._

_“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lavinia says and loops her arm with Peeta’s as they walk towards the house._

_The morning is swallowed with preparations. After lunch, Mary ushers them into one of the guest rooms, the one Ryen’s staying in, so they can take a shower and dress for the evening. Peeta sifts through e-mails and scrolls mindlessly through the internet while Lavinia showers first. When he finishes with his shower, she’s standing in a robe in front of the mirror, fixing her hair. He slips by to put on his suit in the bedroom._

_While he’s still struggling with his tie, she emerges from the bathroom, holding onto the frame to slide on her shoes. She’s beautiful in her peach lace dress and he searches for some kind of spark. Anything._

_Nothing._

_The ceremony is short and traditional. Warm, late July evening sun bathes the garden in a golden glow as Bram and Mary say their vows, a line of his sons behind him in attendance. Peeta stands with his hands folded and his mind far away. The reception after drags into the night, soft white lights strung up through the trees illuminate smiling faces. Peeta watches Lavinia dance and nurses his beer, focuses on socializing with his Dad’s guests. Lavinia stands off to the right during the bouquet toss and laughs when a teenage girl catches it instead._

_While most of the crowd is distracted by the cake cutting, one of Mary’s attendants, Olive Peeta thinks is the name he caught, slips by him with Ryen in tow. No one except Peeta sees their departure and Ryen shrugs at Peeta as he mouths the words_ Just divorced _. Peeta shakes his head at his brother and manages small talk with the guests in Ryen’s absence._

_Eventually, the guests all leave. The bride and groom disappear into the house. Peeta and Lavinia stick around to help with cleanup. He helps Graham load his sleepy daughters into their car and Savannah gives Lavinia a huge hug. Peeta feels like a sham as they climb into the Jeep and return to the hotel._

_Even more so when Lavinia emerges from the shower in a cloud of steam and her robe. Her hands work a towel over her thick red hair to dry it. She bends over the sink to examine a spot on her cheek, making the robe ride up and reveal the soft curves of her ass. His cock stirs to life and he shifts uncomfortably._

_The steps in between are hazy in his head, but the words, “For old times’ sake,” are uttered somewhere in there. Along with “one for the road” as she removes his clothes._

_They wind up with her robe discarded and decorating the floor, her body sandwiched between him and the bed. Hair twisted around his fist, pulling her head back and exposing her neck for his lips and teeth. His hips slamming into her as she wails at him to fuck her harder. Until she’s shuddering head to toe and moaning deep. He blinks the sweat from his eyes and keeps going until she slaps his thigh and says she can’t take anymore right before she screams and comes apart again. She collapses and scurries away from him before he can follow her. She’s still moaning and then using her hand on herself to bring herself down from her high._

_He leaves her to deal with that by herself and strips off the condom before climbing into the shower alone. The water does nothing to calm him so he takes himself in hand and strokes, fast and rough. It does nothing. He bites back a groan and slows down. It’s the soft strokes, the touch of a lover, not a desperate fuck, that finally gets him there with a gasp._

_“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he watches his cum swirl with the water and get sucked down the drain._

_They sleep in separate beds and in the morning, she’s already gone when he wakes up. A note saying that she caught a cab to the airport, the contents of the trash can, and the rumpled sheets of the second bed the only evidence that she was even in the room with him._

_His phone vibrates and he crumples the note, throwing it across the room towards the trash can with the used pregnancy test in it. He blinks at Finnick’s face and name on his phone._

_“Hey,” Peeta greets then clears the sleep from his voice. “What’s up.”_

_“Go get Jo. I just got off the phone with her and I’m pretty sure you were right about that asshole. He got her fired on Friday. She’s saying it was her fault but--”_

_“Fuck,” Peeta mutters again and sits up, reaching for his prosthetic and putting the phone on speaker so he’s got both hands free to deal with it._

_“Any of the others nearby?”_

_“Nope, just you. Sorry to interrupt your time with Lavinia.”_

_“It’s fine. Tell Jo to pack whatever she needs to take with her.”_

_“Got it. Call me when you’ve got her.”_

_“I will. Text me the address?”_

_“Done.”_

_His phone pings and Peeta wrangles his jeans on, stuffing keys, wallet, and phone in his pockets. He’s pulling on a shirt as we walks out the door._

_It’s a fifteen minute drive to get to the address Finnick sent him. Takes him twenty-five with the early morning church traffic, and his stomach is in knots when he pulls into the driveway. The door opens and Johanna staggers out, her hands full._

_The fact that she doesn’t say a word confirms that something is seriously wrong. He takes the bags from her and stuffs them in the back._

_“Anything else?” She shakes her head and climbs into the car. He gets behind the wheel and puts it in drive just as a truck blocks him in and the yelling starts. Peeta locks the doors as Johanna curls up into a ball, her fists clutching her spiked hair as the profanity flies over them._

_“Wish I had a hard top right about now,” Peeta says as he slams the gas and turns the Jeep sharp to the left, driving over the neighbors’ yard. The car jumps the curb. Something hits the rear bumper and shatters. They bounce and the tires squeal as they hit the pavement and Peeta floors it. Then they’re clear and driving down the street._

_Her phone starts ringing immediately and Peeta takes it from her, turns it off and tosses it in the backseat. He hands her his phone instead, already calling Finnick. He can barely hear what she says to their friend._

_When they’ve made it three miles and there’s still no sign of them being followed, Peeta relaxes a little. They stop long enough to get his things from the hotel, and start driving towards Wyoming._

_“Where are we going?” she asks as they cross from Utah into Idaho. The first words she’s spoken to Peeta._

_“You can stay with me for awhile. As long as you need. Or I can turn the car around and take you wherever you want. Your choice.”_

_“I’ve never seen Wyoming in the summer,” she says and curls back up to go to sleep._

* * *

 

Awareness creeps in on me slowly at first, and then all at once as I jolt the rest of the way awake and reach out, grasping at empty sheets and twisting in them to find Peeta.

He’s not here. I knew I was dreaming those words last night. My pulse pounds and my mouth dries as my lungs heave.

Then I spot his bags still in the corner and relax with a loud huff. When I’ve got my breathing under control, my ears detect soft sounds from somewhere in the apartment. I shiver as I leave the warmth of the blankets and dig out a hooded sweatshirt to drag over my body and hopefully keep me warm.

I find him in the kitchen, music playing and eggs scrambling in the pan. Deer sausage sizzling in another, and I think I catch a whiff of bread baking. He must have been awake for awhile.

“Good morning,” he greets me as I wind my arms around his waist and press a kiss to his cheek. “I hope you don’t mind me taking over your kitchen.”

“Food and you cooking it for me?” I say with a smile. “I’ve fantasized about this before.”

“Have you?” he says and his lips curl in a smile.

“Mmhmm. Only you weren’t overly dressed like this.”

I pluck at his shirt and eye his pajama pants. He’s smiling wider now but then he shakes his head. “Before we go anywhere with that...Prim’s not here.”

“I thought she wasn’t working today,” I mutter and he shrugs.

“I don’t know. She knocked on your door last night to tell you, but you were already asleep. I wasn’t. She said she was going out for a bit and she might spend the night with a friend.”

“How out of it was I?” I ask, thinking about what I thought I heard him say last night. I’m still not convinced I didn’t dream it and since he’s not bringing it up, neither do I.

“Well, you did lift your head right before she left and asked me if I’d taken the aloe plant for a walk and fed it dinner, so…” Peeta chuckles.

“I asked you what?” I say and can’t help laughing with him. I have no recollection of this at all. “Is this something I do often?”

“First time I’ve seen you do it, but Prim didn’t seem shocked by it. I’ll keep my eyes open for future sleep talking. Maybe one night you’ll tell me your filthiest fantasy so I can surprise you with it.”

I flush and pinch his ass before heading to the fridge. I think I have some peppers we can add to the eggs. As I finish dicing them and scrape them into the pan, something occurs to me.

“Did you say...she was staying with... a friend?”

“That’s what she told me,” Peeta says and watches me with confusion as I start grumbling and go find my phone. “What? Wait...does Prim have a boyfriend you don’t like or something?”

“Sort of. Maybe,” I say and text her real quick to see where she’s at. “She says it’s casual but--”

“You’re still worried she’ll get hurt.” I debate whether or not to tell him. My phone chimes and I look at her answer.

_Should be home in twenty! Just getting breakfast real quick_

**_You’re with Ryen, aren’t you?_ **

_What if I am? You have Peeta to keep you company. ;-)_

Twice within a month. That seems more serious than casual to me. I shake my head to dismiss that worry and watch Peeta cooking for a second. I should probably keep it to myself if Ryen hasn’t even told his own brother, but I hate to keep more secrets from Peeta. Besides, this one is probably harmless.

“She’s with Ryen,” I tell Peeta and his gaze jumps up to mine.

“As in...”

“He was walking around her room naked while we were on Skype two weeks ago,” I say and Peeta shakes his head, eyes narrowing and shoulders tensing.

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“I have seen your brother’s bare ass,” I admit and Peeta looks a little put out with my answer. I slide in between him and the counter to wind my arms around him. He sets aside the plates he was filling and peers down at me as I run my fingers through his hair. “By the way, it was traumatic. I think I need a hug.”

His lips twitch and he folds me into his embrace.

“I got the best of the litter,” I say to his chest. “In more than one way.”

“You got stuck with the runt.”

“No, I didn’t,” I whisper conspiratorially, and rise on my toes to kiss him. The kiss only lasts a second before he lifts his head.

“Wait. Does that mean you know what Graham looks like naked, too?”

“No,” I say with a laugh. “He loses points on smugness alone. Like I said, I got the best pick.” Peeta growls in his throat as he kisses me, howling like a pup as we break apart. I laugh, shoving him aside and sitting at the table while he serves up breakfast.

It’s nice, eating like this together, talking and laughing while we sit in our pajamas like we’re some kind of normal couple. No frantic texts across an ocean or worrying about time zones or accidentally breaking each other’s focus or sleep. Just us.

But it can’t last forever. Prim returns just as we’re headed out the door to get Peeta to the airport on time for his flight home. I feel listless after I drop him off and take my skis out on a trail while he’s up in the air.

When he calls from Wyoming to let me know he made it safely home, he warns me that Caitlin, one of Graham’s daughters, was just diagnosed with strep throat. I don’t think much of it until two days later when I wake with a sore throat.

I sway on my feet while taking pictures with the whole biathlon team. I can tell I’m coming down with something and sure enough, a few hours later, I’m laid up in bed with a fever and shivers that wrack my entire body. I can’t eat much because every swallow feels like my throat is filled with shards of glass. Prim pampers me and takes me to the doctor and then the pharmacy. I heap curses Graham and his kids and their germs in the worst moments of pain. The fact that Peeta’s laid up with it too is no consolation at all.

My phone remains right next to me the entire time. The first thing I do whenever I wake is check it and answer any messages from Peeta. Sickness slows our communication to a crawl.

Peeta mentions that Effie and a camera crew stopped in at Skadi for more footage. Although he says it went well, I’m not convinced. What more could they possibly want from us? I’ve already given them far more than I wanted.

And I can’t help feeling sorry for myself and crying a little when I wake up with my fever finally broken on the morning of January first. Midnight came and went with me unawares, and the fact that I couldn’t ring in the New Year by kissing Peeta or even blowing one to him through a screen feels like a bad omen.

I try to tell myself I’m being foolish, but the fact that I’m still tired and dragging when I drop into the seat of an airplane bound for Germany does nothing to make me feel better. I’m no longer contagious, but that’s about the only positive right now. Haymitch adds blankets to my pile, makes sure I’m kept stocked in fluids and soft foods.

But I’m still not completely recovered and it shows in the sprint. I barely make it across the finish line. At least Haymitch is there to catch me before I face plant. The only good news about my performance is that missing out on the pursuit gives me two whole days of rest before the relay.

None of the others make the pursuit either, and I can tell when they stop by to check on me that they’re all worried about the relay.

“Hey, get better alright? Relay and then gelato, yeah?” Bonnie says on their way back out the door.

“Sure,” I say with a nod.

I sleep for almost twenty-four hours straight. Manage a brief outing to practice shooting and then fall right back into bed. I drift in and out of sleep, texting Peeta. I don’t pester him too much, though. He’s got his own race to struggle through as well. Instead, I stare at the time stamps on our text messages since the press day back in Colorado.

So far apart.

I toss the phone aside and focus on some work to distract me from thoughts of the relay and how it’s my first one with the team and I’m not one hundred percent. I’m not even sure that I’m fifty percent right now.

The morning of the relay, I search deep for cheerfulness or excitement, unable to find it with my body still recuperating. Bonnie ushers us together for a group picture, citing interest on Twitter about my radio silence. Apparently, we have some avid followers who want to know about our gelato hunt as well as several local places offering up their wares. I make the post and hand my phone to Haymitch while Twill launches into a pep talk.

“Alright, remember what we’ve worked on. Madge and Bristel -- you’re faster than you are accurate. Don’t waste time on loose rounds. Bonnie… float like a butterfly don’t bounce like a bunny…” Bonnie is up first and bouncing on her skis until Twill glares at her.

“I’m getting the nervous energy out now!”

“Fine. Katniss...you’re anchor. Treat it like a pursuit and chase them down. Don’t worry about loose rounds today.”

That bothers me a little. I can load them pretty quick. We worked on it in Maine. As Twill sends Bonnie to the line and the rest of us get set up to wait, I’m wondering if she said that because she thinks I can’t do it or if it’s because of my poor showing in the sprint. I keep it to myself as the race starts.

We keep warm and silent, anxiously watching the board as Bonnie’s shooting results come in. She misses five between her two bouts. She makes up two of those with the loose rounds at least. Not great, but everyone else seems to be having an off-shooting day as well. Madge is up next, and while she only misses three, she bobbles the hand off with Bristel and they waste precious seconds before Bristel can ski off at her full speed.

She misses three on her first bout, tries to remake one, against Twill’s instructions, and seems to think better of trying for the others when she still misses. The two penalty loops must cool her off because she misses none on her next shooting bout.

“Yes!” Twill shouts. She’s talking as I set up for the hand off, but I’m feeling a little dizzy and focus on Bristel’s approach. It starts right here, proving that I belong on this team.

Our handoff is flawless, and I hear Bristel spurring me on, shouting that we’re in eighteenth as I ski away from the line. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. There’s twenty teams on the course today.

My days of rest are evident and I’m feeling good about making this happen as I approach the first available shooting lane. I swing my rifle off my shoulders and drop to the mat, but as I’m setting up, the world tilts. I hide my face in my elbow and take a few deep breaths.

No. I don’t need this right now. I’m fighting against my exhausted body and know that I can’t just lie here doing nothing. Lifting my head, I try to focus on the targets and shoot. One after the other. Soft squeeze. Set up. Repeat.

In the end, I miss two and take my loops. But I’m fading fast. I can tell that my speed is less than my average. I only make it past two on my next skiing lap. That’s not enough. I’m huffing far more than I should as I make it back to the range and sway on my feet. I’m usually better standing and yet I somehow miss four.

Four!

I can feel slumps and expectations pressing back down on my shoulders as I grab the three loose rounds. I can’t make four loops. I’m not sure I’ll even be able to finish if I have to do that. But one I can manage.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, sink into nothing. No feeling. It’s frighteningly familiar, but I turn four misses into only two. I huff a soft curse as I sling my rifle over my shoulder and head for the penalty loop.

I ski in a daze, focused on staying upright and in forward motion. When I cross the line, it’s a struggle to stay on my feet, but I manage to find my team. They fold me into their arms as I pant. I’m close to passing out and grateful for their support. None of them say anything so I know that it’s bad.

“How bad?” I finally ask.

“Nineteenth,” Madge says and squeezes me tighter.

“It’s not dead last,” Bristel says and I laugh. There’s no humor and a touch of hysteria in the sound.

“Let’s get cleaned up and go console ourselves,” Bonnie suggests.

“There’s another one in six days. We’ll crush it then,” Bristel adds and I nod.

None of them suggest that it’s my fault and yet I still feel like it is.

The gelato and talking to the girls helps. Madge shows us pictures of a gray bunny -- a real one not a dust one -- that she sort of adopted over the break and named Sneezy.

“I had to leave him with the girl who lives next door, since I couldn’t bring him with me.”

Eventually, we do talk about the relay and I’m surprised when instead of laying blame at each other’s feet, the way the girls handle it is to critique only their own performances. When they’ve all done it, I feel encouraged to admit my own mistakes.

“I’m still getting over this strep and I wasn’t sure I could make those loops. Thought I could make the extra shots but...guess I should have just listened to Twill.”

After, the girls decide to check out the town but I’m drained and head back to the hotel. I text Peeta to wish him luck with his race and then post our gelato hunt picture with the caption: _Consolation prize._

As soon as I’m done, I brave my feed and freeze in the hotel hallway, swaying on my feet again at the picture of Peeta and a girl I’ve never seen before. They’re both smiling and she has her bent arm propped on his shoulder, leaning into him. Her sleek red hair in a long ponytail, cascading over her shoulder. Sly brown eyes. A long thin nose and high, narrow cheeks that make me think of a fox.

But she’s pretty.

She’s pretty and she’s leaning on Peeta and the first response that I see on the thread is someone gushing about how cute they are together.

What the fuck?

I oscillate between fury and a bone deep hollowness that makes me dizzy again and I stagger back to the room to flop on my bed. He wouldn’t do that, I tell myself. Peeta wouldn’t cheat on me. He loves me.

The words in his post are about the race and her name is there. It must be innocent. She’s just another athlete on his team. A few quick links confirms it. They’re probably just friends. He’s never had difficulty making friends. But I can’t get over the sight of them together. The assumptions on the thread that they must be a couple. The fact that I’ve never heard her name before. And why the hell he posted a picture of just the two of them when most of his previous ones have been group shots.

_Hey, it’ll get better. You’re still getting used to one another. And you’re probably still dragging from the strep. I know I am._

The message pops up from Peeta and I try to get a handle on the rage tornado that’s swept me up. He doesn’t look like he’s dragging in that picture. I limit myself to something less accusatory.

**_Gotta love those kids and their germs._ **

_I know. Savannah and the girls all went through it like dominoes and now Graham’s apparently wracked up with it too._

_On the road._

I feel a perverse sense of satisfaction that at least Graham is sick while not in the comfort of his home.

**_We should have skipped that dinner with your family_ **

The ellipses pop up for a second then stop. I type out a few words asking him about Foxface and then erase them. I don’t want to sound like a jealous harpy. It’s probably nothing. Only an idiot would post a picture like that if he were cheating. And Peeta’s not an idiot. I’m just being paranoid.

_You’ve got a few days to rest now, yeah? Not traveling too far to the next one. You’ll get ‘em then. ;-)_

**_Yeah. Think I’m gonna try to get some sleep now._ **

_Okay. Sweet dreams <3 _

He sends me a heart emoji and I toss my phone aside. Punch my pillow and try to find sleep. I have weird dreams. Some of them familiar, others new. For the next three days, I fight against exhaustion and the remnants of strep and this vague fear in the back of my head. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I dream that I’m wearing a sweater with a loose thread. I walk past hundreds of people, all of them tugging at it until it finally unravels and I’m left with a heap of useless yarn.

When I do get to actually talk to Peeta instead of texting, I struggle to find the right words. It feels like he does too and our conversations leave me feeling no better than I did before.

“Ryen’s been asking me about Prim.”

“Why would he be asking you?”

“I dunno. Guess I’m the gossip link between you and her.”

“Well what does he want?”

“He was wondering if she’s said anything about him.”

“Well...no. She said it’s casual. Tell him to back off.”

Doubt creeps in on the coattails of fear. Something’s wrong and I don’t know what. We’ve disconnected somewhere. I’m unraveling faster than that sweater in my dreams and I blame it on the strep. Haymitch doesn’t believe me. I can see it in his eyes.

We’re still in Germany for the fifth contest of the season, although at a different venue than our failed relay debut. I throw myself into the individual, determined to prove that I can do this. We have a relay in two days and I will not let my team down again. I refuse. But my shooting is shaky and I barely finish in the top forty. Not terrible, but not where I want to be.

I beg off gelato with the girls and tell them we should save it for after the relay. There’s no answer when I text Peeta and it goes straight to voicemail when I call. I don’t leave him a message. Instead, I fall asleep in bed, still in my ski suit. There’s no relief in sleep. No rest to be found when I’m caught in nightmares again.

Madge wakes me and coaxes me to take a shower. When I’m dressed in pajamas and feeling a little better, I sit on the bed, surprised when Madge sits behind me, combs and braids my hair for me. As she’s standing, there’s a knock on our door.

“Probably Bonnie wanting to know if we’re up to going out for dinner tonight,” she says and opens it.

“Hi. Madge Undersee, right?” His voice is tentative but I know it’s him. “Is Katniss here?”

I’m on my feet and flying past Madge before she can even answer. Peeta grunts when I collide with him and he staggers back into the wall across the hallway. He drops his bag and then his arms are around me.

“You must be Peeta,” Madge says behind me and Peeta lifts one hand to shake hers and greet her properly.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” she says and Peeta returns to hugging me. “I’ll just leave this propped open for you, Katniss.”

I hum an acknowledgment, unwilling to let go of Peeta just yet.

“You’re here,” I say and squeeze my eyes shut against the tears threatening to spill. Peeta’s arms tighten around me. And then something occurs to me and I push away from him. “Oh my god, you’re _here._ How much did you waste on last minute airfare to Germany?”

“Unimportant,” he says and pulls me back towards him. His thumb traces under my eye and his smile wavers. His face is thin and he’s got circles under his eyes that probably match mine. “Being here with you is worth every penny and a million more. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

I make a frustrated noise and throw myself back into his arms because I can’t be upset with him. I just can’t. I’m too damn happy to see him.

Haymitch stops by with dinner for the whole team plus Peeta so none of us have to venture out, and it occurs to me that I never told Peeta the name of our hotel or my room number. He must have gotten that from Haymitch. We gather in Bonnie and Twill’s room and Madge eyes me when I introduce him as my friend. I whisper that I’ll explain later and she nods. I’m glad she’s not passing judgment on me. Besides, Peeta’s got them all enthralled within minutes. I can tell he’s about as tired as me, so we don’t linger after the food is consumed.

Instead, we fall into bed and sleep twined together. At one point, I wake to Madge gathering her things. She smiles at me and whispers that she’s just going to spend tonight with Bristel, who now has a room to herself without Wiress here. My head drops back on top of Peeta’s outstretched arm and I fall right back to sleep. I don’t even hear the door click as she leaves.

It’s the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.

In the morning, Bristel is fired up and drags us out to practice. Haymitch chugs coffee before tossing aside his cup and ordering us all to charge after her and stick together. We only ski a short distance and take a few shooting bouts before Twill moves us to a weight room and has us doing a light workout. Peeta joins us and the girls chat with him easily.

By the day prior to the relay, I’m feeling a hundred times better. I’m actually up to getting some work done. Something I haven’t done much of lately. I stretch out on my bed on my stomach, with my head at the foot of it, pounding away at my laptop to get as much done as I can and free up time to spend with Peeta while he’s here. He sits leaning against the headboard, lounging in a soft, long sleeve tee and athletic shorts, his prosthetic set aside so he can fully relax. He props his tablet on his bent upwards knee, swiping and typing to deal with business. His face softening when he switches to working on sketches and the design for a set of racing skis he tells me are bound for Australia after he gets them made.

After a little over an hour of work, I decide to take a break and brave social media. It’s not too bad. There’s a few things hinting at the storm that’s about to hit with the Olympics, but it’s otherwise quiet. Mainly the lull is because the material they gathered last month won’t hit the public until some time next week. Once it does, I’m a little worried about the pandemonium. I wish I had more control over it, but at this point, it’s impossible. The whole thing is out of my hands and all I can do is deal with whatever comes at me when it does.

Only I won’t be alone, I realize as Peeta’s hand caresses up over my heel then up my calf. He’s here with me right now.

He lifts my foot and massages it. When that one is pliant and relaxed, he switches to the other foot and does the same to it. He shifts on the bed as I look over my shoulder at him. Watch him lower himself to kiss the backs of my legs. My eyes slide shut as I lay there, anticipating his kisses. Living for the caress of his skin on mine. He once told me he could write sonnets about my legs alone and now I think maybe that’s exactly what he’s doing with his hands and his lips.

By the time he reaches the hem of my shorts, I’m a quivering ball of need. Aching so much for him that when his hand slips beneath the fabric, I lift my hips to get his fingers where I want them faster. He doesn’t cooperate and I whimper a little.

My hand nudges my laptop and it hangs off the edge. I grab it in time and smack it shut, set it on the floor before I knock it over. Peeta stretches out half on top of me, his lips nibble at my ear as his fingers finally trace over my folds through my panties.

Peeta whispers of desire in my ear while his hands bring it to life. I cling to the duvet and don’t even attempt to stop the desperate sounds I make or the rocking of my hips. He gently bites my earlobe and I whine as my release escapes me. Peeta tugs off my shorts and panties. Then it’s his mouth on me and his fingers inside me and everything feels right again. He moans into me and I tense in anticipation, holding on tight until I spring loose, walls fluttering around his fingers and a soft cry on my tongue. I rest my head on the mattress and murmur to him as he slides his fingers from me before sucking them clean.

“Missed you. And your fingers. And your mouth. Especially your mouth.”

He chuckles and nips at the swell of my ass before tucking a pillow under my hips to keep them elevated. My body quakes at the thought of what this is going to feel like as Peeta strips behind me. I manage to hold my head up with one hand and turn around enough to watch him. Once he’s naked, he tears into a condom and rolls it on.

Warnings flare in my brain and as he lays out on top of me, I reach back to stop him.

“What are you doing?”

“Huh?” he asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

“We haven’t used those since New Zealand. You don’t need those with me,” I say and push against him until I can wriggle out from beneath him and sit up. I grab the blankets and cover myself. He can’t seem to find the words and I wonder if it’s because he’s too swept up in lust or if it’s because I’ve caught him off guard. Sensing a weakness, I pick at the loose string. “Or maybe _I_ need them with _you_.”

“What? Katniss what are you talking about?”

The nausea and fears burgeon back to the surface and are out before I second guess them or myself.

“Well there was that picture of you with Jackie Purnell a few days ago. Everyone talking about how cute you are together. The two of you do make a striking couple.”

“Jackie? What does she have to do with me using a condom?” I stare at him and wait for more. I can see it in his wide eyes when he figures out what I’m insinuating. “You thought I -- why would I -- you know what--”

He twists and digs out his phone, his jaw clenched as he sits naked on my bed and searches for something before finally showing me. Responses of “Thanks. We’re just good friends and teammates!” Others that prove I was wrong. So wrong.

“Do you remember Emily? Twelve year old double amputee who I teach snowboarding to? Well, Jackie is the only double amputee snowboarder on the team. I was trying to get them together. So Emily would have someone to look up to. Maybe someone to talk to and help her deal with some of the doubt she’s been feeling.”

All the anger in me curdles into shame. Of course it was something like that. I feel so stupid for doubting Peeta, but how was I supposed to know? He never mentioned it once. Or maybe he did, and I was too tired or wrapped up in myself to hear it, I think as I lift my eyes to his and see more hurt than anger in his blue eyes.

“You really thought I was cheating on you?” he asks.

“No,” I whisper. “Not really. I thought it at first but dismissed it as me being paranoid until you...and all those people thought it too!”

“Katniss, I can’t control the assumptions people make or what they say. I can deny it all I want but… you asked me not to tell anyone about us.”

And there’s the worst of it. I did this to us. I shrink in on myself and Peeta pulls me onto his lap. I shake my head, knowing that I don’t deserve his comfort and yet he gives it anyways.

“I told you about it during that TAS camp. I think it was that night you were half asleep, though. I guess I should have mentioned it again when you were awake. I’m so sorry Katniss. Fuck. I should’ve told you why I using the stupid condom. I’m sorry. I was using it because we had strep. You were on antibiotics, right?”

I nod and then hiccough out a pathetic sob as what he’s saying sinks in, making my shame grow. He was protecting me. Again. Trying to be thoughtful and I assumed the worst.

I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on as he soothes me. Keeps apologizing even though I should be the one saying those words.

“I’m sorry. You’ve got the Olympics in just over a month. It’d be a _really_ bad time for me to accidentally knock you up,” he says and I can’t help it. The stress he puts on the word “really” makes me laugh. I lift my head off his shoulder and nod as he looks up at me sheepishly.

“Morning sickness would put a damper on medal hopes, wouldn’t it?”

We stare at one another for a moment as our smiles slowly fade. I rest my forehead on his and sigh, my eyes closed as I apologize to him and he kisses me softly. A wordless acceptance.

“Wanna get some fresh air?” he asks and I nod. I think that’s a better idea right now. Rather than trying to pick up our interrupted tryst.

We walk for a bit and find a tiny place to eat dinner and hide away from the world in the corner. Peeta is attentive and affectionate the whole time. So much so that when we crawl back into bed that night, I can’t keep my hands from wandering.

“You have a race tomorrow. You need to sleep,” he whispers as I’m the one to roll the condom on this time and shift to drag his tip through my folds. I bite my lip and shake my head.

“I need you,” I say. “Right now, I need you more.”

He groans and helps me sink onto him, sucks on my nipples through the pajama shirt I couldn’t be bothered to remove first as I writhe over him. Desperate and holding on to edges as long as I can until he grabs my arms, holding them behind me so I’m bent back and his cock finds an edge I can’t control. My hips jerk spasmodically on him as I come and don’t stop. I can feel it rushing out of me onto him and he curses, bucking beneath me and groaning my name.

“Katniss, I need --” the rest is garbled as he sits up and my back hits the bed. I can’t even summon the energy to wrap my legs around him as he thrusts and whispers broken words in my ear. He bites my neck when he comes and his hips twist between my legs.

I run my fingers through his hair and he kisses all over my neck and shoulders. I fall asleep with his lips on me, content.

But in the morning, I’m late and we have to rush around. At the last minute before we leave the room, Peeta drops my hummingbird charm around my neck and gives me a swift kiss. “Show ‘em what you got.”

As we’re lining up for our pre-race hunting picture, the others tease me under their breath about the glow in my eyes while Twill yells at us that no one is using extra rounds today. We’re skiing like we want it or failing together.

“Overslept,” I mutter. “And it’s a bigger field today. I’m nervous.” Bristel snorts.

“I wouldn’t have even shown if I were you,” she says and I scowl at her. She smiles and nudges me. “Well let’s find out if your warm up rejuvenated you or wore you out. He’s paying for gelato if you suck today!”

She skis away from me before I can answer.

We’re hungry.

Bonnie puts up her best combined results for 6k in all her years of racing. Madge only misses one. Bristel attacks the course, and even though she misses four total, you wouldn’t know it from her times. She grits her teeth as she skis towards me. We stutter a little on the hand-off but as I ski away, I just catch her voice shouting at me.

“Holy -- twenty! Katniss we’re twentieth!”

Out of twenty-three. And I know what Bristel is telling me. We’ve got a shot at a decent finish. It might not seem like a great finish, but the gap between us and dead last is what we’re focused on right now. It’s a shifting thing, your difference from dead last when the field isn’t always the same number.

I push aside thoughts of everything else and ski. Just ski. Then shoot. I miss two and take my loops. Another two on the next bout, but I’m focused on speed right now. As I leave the shooting range, I take note of who’s in front of me. China, Lithuania, and Japan.

I can catch at least one of them.

So I do. I’m gaining on Lithuania as we get close. I can hear crowd noise and slip past her. Shove my way towards Japan. I won’t catch her, but I’ll be damned if I don’t make this as narrow as possible.

You’d think we’d made it to the podium instead of finishing in seventeenth with the way the girls tackle me after I cross the line.

We sway in a huddle as Bonnie chants words I can’t catch and Bristel laughs.

“Bring your boyfriend to Korea,” she says and I blush. I don’t deny her words. Maybe Madge told them. Maybe they figured it out on their own, but who really cares?

Twill buys the gelato.

The day we leave Germany, bound for Italy, I hold onto Peeta for as long as I can. The bags are packed. Tickets tucked in easy to access pockets. He won’t be going with me this time. Madge knocks on the door and reminds me that we have a train to catch.

“See you across the pond,” he whispers and kisses me. A smile on his face as we split up in the lobby. He’s headed to the airport, me to the train station. I join my team, glancing back over my shoulder at him as he waves.

“One more, a short break, and then on to Korea!” Bonnie says as our bags are tossed into the van taking us to the train station.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amy Purdy is currently the sole double amputee on the US parasnowboarding team. Go look her up. You won't regret it. ;-)


	23. A Sudden Drop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLASHBACK covers August 2014 - March 2016  
> REMINDER Katniss hits her slump and returns to Wyoming in mid-March of 2017
> 
> Cell phones and civilian clothes are collected and stored when you arrive at basic training. Other than a short, “I made it here safely” call home at the beginning, and a “graduation is this date” one near the end, phone calls are a privilege that is earned. Depending on how you do, you may be given several additional calls home, or none. These phone calls are usually made from pay phones and are kept fairly short. Basic trainees do not have access to computers or email until they graduate. Thus, the primary form of communication is letters. Yes, actual snail mail letters with stamps and everything.

_The letters arrive from Georgia sporadically. He writes about his training and debates with the paper he writes on about which specialty he should pick. He talks about the Army Corps of Engineers, his interest palpable in the words. But he doesn’t have the education to do that, he thinks. Not the way he wants to._

_She tries to answer the letters. Bits about the weather and Prim and the few times she’s run into his family here and there. The happenings at the country club. She misses her friend and her partner._

_Summer fades and autumn storms in upon her. She’s at a market, sifting through vegetables for dinner when she hears her name and looks up. Waves at Hazelle and smiles when the older woman approaches._

_“I thought that was you. How are you, Katniss?”_

_They talk for a few minutes about the produce and what their plans are for their selections. Hazelle asks her to grab a cup of tea with her after they’re done with their shopping. The chill nips at her nose and she agrees to the tea. She likes Hazelle, a strong woman who worked hard to keep her family together and taken care of, even after she lost her husband._

_“Do you hear from Gale?” Hazelle asks as they sip their steaming drinks._

_“He writes here and there.” Hazelle nods and smiles softly._

_“I know he looks forward to seeing you again. Misses your days working at the country club together. I think those days are special to him,” she says and Katniss holds her tea just short of her mouth. She doesn’t see how, with how often he railed against the club and its owners and their customers._

_“You made them special,” Hazelle says, gazing fondly at Katniss._

_She gulps down the rest of her tea, suddenly uncomfortable, and thanks Hazelle before leaving. When she gets home, Prim is sprawled on the living room floor, nose in her books, scribbling on a notepad. Katniss smiles and offers to make an early dinner._

_“Oh that sounds wonderful,” Prim says and stretches before standing to help out. They work shoulder to shoulder as Prim goes on about her classes and the people she’s met._

_A few weeks later, Katniss drops a letter in the box. It’s not much, just a few words reminding him that she’ll be out of the country for her season. She doesn’t even bother sending him an address to mail things to her overseas. It’s pointless. She’s not in one place long enough to receive letters._

_The first month of the season flies by in a haze of some of her best finishes yet. Her name becomes a discussion item. Prim asks to spend the holiday break in New Mexico, practically begging to get out of Colorado Springs for a few days. Katniss and Haymitch both readily agree._

_“Oh here,” Prim says the day they leave for New Mexico. “I’ve been collecting them while you were gone.”_

_It’s a small stack of letters from Gale._

_Haymitch drives to New Mexico and complains about Prim’s overly cheerful music choices, but Prim wraps her arms around his neck and presses a kiss to his cheek._

_“You love it. Stop complaining, grouch,” she teases._

_Katniss reads the letters as they drive. He’s sent a new address and a phone number in New York. Even an email address. He talks about how noisy it is, living in the barracks. He tells her about Fort Drum and his infantry division. A few stories about the men and women he works with. He mentions that he’ll be in Colorado for a week for the holidays. His words on the page speak of options and futures and vaguely hint at what it would mean to be a military spouse. The more recent letters slip into illicit territory._

_Discomfort at the words drives her to shove those in her bag without reading them. They’re not arousing while she’s in the car with her sister and Haymitch._

_The more innocuous letters press against her temples with the impending decisions. Expectations. She rubs her forehead. Looks out the window at the stretches of snow covered desert plants, searching for answers or guidance. When she finds nothing, she curls up to nap._

_She takes to the mountains in New Mexico and keeps working. Chasing perfection. Calls Gale one day so that he’s not looking for her in Colorado. He seems annoyed but he asks about her season. About Prim. Even Haymitch. Vick has his scholarship and his acceptance letter to an ivy league school._

_Right before they leave New Mexico, Sae pulls Katniss into a tight hug and holds her for at least five minutes, running her hand over Katniss’ braid and murmuring about how proud of her they all are. How she is a beacon of light to her people._

_They return to Colorado in time for her to get aboard a plane and head back to Europe. Katniss hugs Prim the morning she leaves again, kissing her on the temple, and extracting a promise from Prim to take care of herself._

_She finishes the season in the top fifteen and the discussions pick up. Is it too soon to move her up to world cup levels? Haymitch engages in rapid fire email and texting with Arnold Gloss and other key members of the Biathlon Association leadership, arguing her case. The seasons blend and stretch. The decision is made to move her up instead of Bristel just as summer fades._

_One step closer, she thinks as she drives home from training with Haymitch one autumn day. She drives with the windows down, enjoying the cool, crisp air._

_There’s a familiar truck parked next to her usual spot, a tall and handsome man in olive green cargo pants and a loose shirt leaning against it. She didn’t know he’d be here this week, although they have kept in touch. He unfolds himself to stand at his full height as she gets out. He looks so different with the short haircut. It makes his features sharper, more angular._

_“Ran into Prim on her way to class. She was in a hurry but said you’d be home soon. I hope you don’t mind me waiting.”_

_“No,” Katniss says and waves up towards her apartment door. “I was about to have lunch.”_

_It’s pleasant, talking to him as they eat. Reminds her of their days at the country club. There have been phone calls and emails from New York but no more questions of futures. She guesses it was the loneliness and isolation of basic training that drove him to write those things to her._

_Gale talks about his job, mentions that the biggest downside is not having his family close. He’s in Colorado on leave to see them. He talks about how his commander is considering him for officer candidate school. It’d mean more money, a better job. It would put the corps of engineers within reach again, too. There are a few things he needs to do first, though._

_He’s leaving for Afghanistan in less a month. He’ll be gone for a year._

_They’re clearing their plates when he tells her that last part and she kisses him. The dishes make a racket as they get dropped in the sink. He hoists her up onto the counter and she shoves his pants to the floor. It’s fast and hard and as soon as they’re done, he carries her to bed and they do it again._

_“Come back with me,” he says as they lay on her sheets after. “Come with me to New York, Catnip.”_

_“Gale...I can’t,” she says. “I have Prim. She’s just started school here.”_

_“Bring her with you. There are colleges in New York, too.”_

_“I can’t ask her to transfer across country like that. And what about Haymitch? I just got moved up to World Cup. We’ve worked really hard for this. I can’t just give that up to sit around and wait for you while you’re in Afghanistan.”_

_“Snows in New York just like it does here. It’s actually flatter there. That’d be better for your training. And it’s closer to Maine. Closer to the pricks who control you.”_

_For some reason, that strikes something forgotten and painful in her heart. Images of flat land stretching unbroken and unloving for miles. Barely concealed condescension._

_“They don’t control me.”_

_“They get to pick what you do, where you go, whose product you push. How is that not controlling you?”_

_“That’s not fair,” she argues and moves away from him. His brows furrow together._

_“I just don’t get it. You could do so much more.”_

_“So much more? I have a shot at the Olympics! How much more do you expect out of me?”_

_“And which nation's flag do you compete under there?” The insinuation cuts deep and she lashes back with just as much venom in her voice, furious with him._

_“What about you?” she yells. He went off and joined the army, something he railed against for years and now he’s just falling into line for them._

_“It’s not the same,” he argues when she points that out to him and then they’re standing with the bed between them. “I did it to take care of my family.”_

_“So do I!”_

_“Yeah? Is that what you call leaving Prim alone for months at a time? Taking care of her? And who takes care of you when you won’t let anyone get close to you? I have to use the fucking jaws of life to learn anything about you!”_

_She recoils from his words and shakes her head as he closes his eyes and they both take a few deep breaths. Of course she takes care of Prim. Her sister has everything she needs. Katniss calls while she’s gone. They have family and friends from New Mexico who rotate in and out to spend time with Prim. A friendly neighbor who checks in on her periodically. Prim understands. Who would be there for her if they moved to New York?_

_And_ no one _takes care of her, Katniss wants to say. Not anymore. She takes care of herself. Sae said they’re all proud of Katniss, and Katniss isn’t even descended from the same tribe as Sae. But all of that feels like the wrong thing to say and she’s searching for the right thing when he moves around the bed and takes her face in his hands. Kisses her. She rests her clenched fists on his chest. He lifts his head and searches her eyes. Whispers three questions that ruin everything._

_“Where are you? What are you thinking?” She flounders, her mouth opening and closing as the words freeze on her tongue. His gray eyes grow cold as they stare at each other with his hands on her cheeks. “Do you love me?”_

_She plumbs the depths of her brain for the words to explain how essential he’s been to her. How much he means to her. The words he needs her to say escape her, unsaid, and what trips out is far worse._

_“You know how I feel about you, Gale.” His jaw clenches. It’s not enough. Her mind scrambles for a way to keep him. She can’t lose him, too. “I can’t go with you now. But maybe...in a few years. After Prim is done with school. Maybe then things could be different. I could be different.”_

_“Yeah, maybe,” he says and steps away from her. “So the Olympics, huh? Those are in what? Two years?”_

_“Two and a half.”_

_“I’ll be gone for a lot of that time. Maybe it’s better if we just call it quits until you’re done with that. We’re both pretty good at living our lives without each other anyways. You made sure of it.”_

_He leaves and she doesn’t follow. It hurts more than she expects. There are no letters from Afghanistan._

_That season, she devotes herself to perfection. It’s cold and simple. Uncomplicated. Ski and shoot. Cross the finish. Do it better the next time. They call her a machine._

* * *

 

There’s a girl in a meadow. Dancing and singing. Yellow flowers sway around her, brushing her waist as she skips through the meadow. And there’s a man, lifting her into the air and spinning until she giggles, her arms spread as she flies in his arms.

I dream of them on the train to Italy. The dancing girl and the laughing man. When I wake, I cling to the delicious feelings of happiness those dreams create. There’s still so much ahead of me in the season that I’m not sure what the dreams mean. I’m just grateful that they aren’t my usual fare of faceless seas swallowing me and falling off cliffs and waking to emptiness.

Our story hits the newsstands in the form of Olympic previews while I’m in Italy. For now it’s just in print. The TV spots will come later, I’m told. Prim assures me it’s not nearly as bad as I was fearing, that it presents both Peeta and I in a positive light.

“They want their Olympians to look like heroes, Katniss,” she says when I express doubt. “They’re not gonna make you look bad. You should read it.”

Peeta says the same thing about it being positive, although he admits that he’s hesitant to go out too much right now. Mainly because everyone at Skadi and in our hometown area is ecstatic over having all four of us in Korea. I’m not entirely ready to give up on my concerns just yet either and avoid reading it so I don’t distract myself from what I need to do.

It’s easy to avoid over here in Italy where the hype is focused on their own athletes. I post our gelato hunt but otherwise avoid notifications and all other forms of social media. I eschew the news and develop tunnel vision. Nothing exists except what lives between the start and finish line. I can worry about the rest later.

I do well in Italy. Well enough to keep myself in the top thirty as far as rankings go. It’s a strange mix of optimism and dread as we board our flight home. I’ve got about two weeks between now and the opening ceremonies in Korea. I stare at the dates on my phone, the overlapping bands of colors, trying to rearrange time and space to get what I want.

I want that medal. To bring it home for both nations that I belong to. I want it to be about more than overcoming tragedy and lost chances. It’s part of why I didn’t want all the press coverage to focus on my love life or my past at Skadi with Gramps and the Mellarks, because it would detract from the other part of my story. The legacy that came from my father. From Haymitch and Sae and so many others who see themselves in my face and in the blood running in my veins. I belong to them and they to me. And if I win it for them, then I win it for something far greater than myself. Then it would mean something.

But I want Peeta too. I want to be there for him the way he’s been there for me, will be there for me at the Olympics. The way we were as kids. The dates on the calendar make it impossible to have both.

I tap my fingers on my tray table as we soar across the Atlantic and Haymitch mutters that I’m irritating him with my fidgeting. I scowl at him and return my focus to the calendar. The closer we get to home, the more I feel like the sweater is already unraveled. I’m tangled in its web and powerless, tossed on the sea of faceless snow before it gapes open and swallows me.

I’ve turned fanciful in my dilemma and it annoys me. Things were so much less complicated when I didn’t feel anything.

Once or twice, I find myself staring at the picture of Peeta with Jackie Purnell, the fox faced girl I felt a mad moment of jealousy over, and even though I know there’s nothing between them, I force myself to stare at her face and examine my reaction to seeing them together. I try to pinpoint why I assumed the worst when Peeta’s given me no reason to do so. It makes no sense, I know that. And while I’d like to blame exhaustion and the remnants of sickness, another reason bubbles to the surface of my brain the longer I stare at her.

She’s there.

She’s there with him in a place I can’t be and wish that I could. The reality of whatever they are or are not has little bearing on the fact that, just by the nature of our schedules, I can’t be there for him. Not physically. Not the way I want. We got lucky with New Zealand and while we took full advantage of that, I feel as though we’ve just been stretching ourselves thinner and further since then. All the things we’ve had to do on our own because the other couldn’t be there. He deserves someone who is there for him, and I can’t be that girl. Not if I’m going after that medal in Korea or a spot on the world cup podium, which is still mathematically possible.

I can’t make the Paralympics unless I skip my own competitions in Norway and Finland. Peeta wouldn’t want me to do that. Not when I’m doing so well this season. But I can make it to Canada for him in a little over a week. At least for the first half of the competition. It will be cutting it close for me to make the opening ceremony in Korea, but I could do it. Resolved, I show Haymitch my plan and he nods. His easy agreement relieves me of some stress and I’m able to sleep.

When I make it home, there’s a whirlwind of last minute Olympic prep. Equipment and training and uniforms and double checking itineraries. Haymitch helps every step of the way, but I’m still busy almost every minute of the day. It keeps me distracted from the flurry of media and everything that could detract from my goal. I start to understand what Haymitch meant about the passion and being able to almost taste the gold.

The only downside is that since we’re both so busy, Peeta and I barely get a chance to talk. We manage it, like we did over the summer and even while I was in Europe. There is always at least a _Good morning_ and a _Good night_. But it starts to feel like we’re clinging to the edge of the cliff and just surviving from one day to the next and I wonder if every season will be like this or if next year, without the insanity of the Olympics, will be easier to weather.

I keep telling myself that I just have to make it to February 5th. Just to February 5th and I can see him again. There are tickets to Canada on my phone. Sometimes I bring them up to remind me.

“Good news,” Haymitch announces one day. “Pack an overnight bag. Your gelato stunt with the team has had unexpected results. There’s an ice cream company from Wisconsin, small business artisan type company, that just signed on as Olympic partner. Specifically for the women’s biathlon team.”

“So... what? They want a commercial?” I ask, watching the days tick away from me even more.

“For now they just want pictures.” He must see something in my face because his hand lands on my shoulder. “We’ll be back in time for you to make it. It’ll only be two days.”

I nod and pack my bag. And really, it’s not so bad at all. The girls are stoked and their excitement is contagious. The company is thrilled with the pictures they get of us. I’m back in Colorado before I know it.

But I’m so tired and worried about getting sick again. The nightmares creep back in and finally I can’t take it anymore. They were so much easier to deal with when I was sleeping beside Peeta. Sometimes it even helped to talk to him about them. If I can see his face while I tell him about the nightmares and the pressure that I feel on my shoulders, maybe I’ll be able to manage them on my own.

**_Hey. You have time to Skype or FaceTime? There’s something I want to talk to you about._ **

That’ll help, I decide. Even if we won’t be able to touch.

_Not at the moment. Not in a good place for that._

_I will be soon. Maybe about twenty minutes?_

**_Okay_ ** _._

His second text alleviates the disappointment caused by the first. Since we won’t be able to talk for a bit, I go ahead and start my dinner. A comfort food. I leave my dinner to simmer while I change into pajamas. When my phone vibrates again, I sit on my bed, somewhere comforting for the conversation I’m about to have.

_I can text for now tho_

_How was your day?_

**_Stressful. I’ve avoided the internet and I think I’m having withdrawal_ **

_Ha! I know what you mean._

**_How was your day?_ **

_About the same_

I bite my lip and fight back guilt. I’m about to unload all my worries on him and he’s got his own to deal with.

**_How’s Gramps been feeling?_ **

_So much better. He’s driving everyone at Skadi nuts right now._

_Save me._

I laugh and type out a response.

**_He loves you. I’m glad he’s feeling well._ **

**_Let me know when you can Skype._ **

_I will._

_I’m actually on a bus right now and there’s this guy a few rows in front of me reading a magazine._

Well that’s...random, I think.

_And we’re on the cover._

Oh. Right. I’d forgotten that there was one version of _Sports Illustrated_ with a picture of Peeta and I on the cover. I wonder what the picture looks like. Maybe I should just bite the bullet and pick up a copy at the airport on my way to Canada in two days. Maybe seeing myself as the hero Prim seems to think they painted me as will help. Or maybe it will make things worse. I don’t know.

_It’s actually kind of surreal._

**_I’m sure it is. Maybe he’s a fan. Did you introduce yourself?_ **

_No. That’d be weird._

_Besides, he’s pretty engrossed in whatever he’s reading. Didn’t want to be rude._

I wouldn’t introduce myself either. How would you even start that conversation? Besides, I’d be too concerned that the person wasn’t even reading the article about me at all but instead learning about the newest version of the Bowflex or something. That could be really embarrassing.

Something tickles at my thoughts, though.

**_Where are you that you’re on a bus?_ **

I thought he was in Wyoming. Before he can answer, the scent of cooking food reaches my bedroom. “Shoot!”

I clamber off my bed and hurry into the kitchen to deal with the mess I’ve made. I hate wasting food. At least it’s not completely burned. Just a little overcooked and dry. Not quite the consistency of jerky. I search my cabinets for a sauce or something. Maybe I can turn this into a soup, let it sit and soak in some moisture to soften while I talk to Peeta.

I’m about to give up and order a pizza when there’s a knock on my door. Probably our neighbor. Ms. Ripper can always smell it when one of us burns dinner and stops by to check on us.

“Come here, Buttercup,” I say and snatch him up despite his hissing at me. Ms. Ripper loves him and she’s really a sweet lady, if a touch nosy.

I open the door with a reassuring smile on my lips. The cold air sweeps in, refreshing for just an instant. Then it’s not.

Buttercup mewls at my tightened grip on him and wriggles out of my arms.

“Hey, Catnip.”

“Gale,” I say and snap my mouth shut.

“When’d you get a cat?”

“I...he’s Prim’s.”

“Course he is.”

Just seeing him again brings up a whole host of emotions. I grab hold of the doors to my mind to fight against them, but it’s no use. I guess the fact that I refused to acknowledge any of them when we were together makes it impossible to staunch them now. I unwillingly relive an entire failed relationship in minutes and it hurts beyond measure.

“What are you doing here?”

He looks past me into the apartment and I gather the edges of my sweater, crossing my arms over my chest to ward off the chill.

“Smells like you were making elk steak and potatoes. Overcooked it too. Must have been a stressful day. Is Prim here?”

“No. She’s out with friends. And it’s been a stressful couple of years,” I say and he nods.

“So I’ve read.”

I blink up at him and he holds out a magazine for me to see, bent open to a page. A picture of three smiling blond boys, an old man in a chair, and me. “While I was in the desert, I’d sometimes dream about walking off the plane home and seeing your smiling face in the crowd. Waiting to welcome me home. This isn’t exactly what I pictured, though.”

I don’t know what to say and anything I could think of is forgotten with his next words.

“I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what your hang up was. Why you were impossible to get to know. I thought it was because you and I came from the same place. So you were just guarded, like me. That if I was patient and didn’t ask anything of you that we’d eventually work it out. Even if it meant waiting until after the Olympics. Then I read this.” He glances down at the magazine for a second and when he looks back up at me, there’s anger in his gaze. “I don’t even recognize the girl in this article. She sounds nothing like you at all.”

I shift uncomfortably on my feet because it’s true. I told him so little of myself, still stuck in self-preservation mode back then. Intent on keeping all the pain away by dealing with none of it. And hurting everyone around me instead.

“It’s a really good story, too. Very compelling. I’m starting to think I never knew you. Or I was right about you being basically a professional entertainer. They want a good show and you’re giving it to them.” I shiver and glance around the empty walkway. I don’t want to be having this conversation with an audience, not even a brief, accidental one. He sees my dilemma and tilts his head to the side, a knowing half-smile on his lips.

“Can we...talk about this inside?” I ask and he steps across the threshold. His boots silent on the floor. I shut the door and turn to face him.

He swallows all the empty space and I step around him to the kitchen so I can finish dealing with my disaster of a dinner. As I do, I start to feel annoyed rather than guilty.

“Why are you here, Gale? What do you want?”

“I’m here visiting my family before I head off to OCS. Just got back from my second tour in Afghanistan. Eight months this time. I saw this and I guess I just wanted answers. Maybe the truth about what happened between us.”

“You left two years ago. I haven’t heard from you since then.” Annoyance gives way to anger. Because he did ask something of me. Something I wasn’t ready or willing to give and he didn’t even try to understand why I couldn’t.

“And there hasn’t been a single day between then and now when I haven’t thought of you. But would you have answered if you had heard from me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I was kind of busy,” I bite out the words.

“Yeah that was always the problem, wasn’t it. You were only ever halfway with me. I tried giving you time while we were together. Didn’t complain when you’d vanish for an entire season. Gave you space when we were apart to figure it out.  Tried moving on after, but it didn’t work very well. None of them were you.”

“So what makes me so special?” I’m starting to care less about his feelings with his accusatory tone.

“We’re the same, Catnip. Or at least I thought we were. I saw a future with you. I thought you saw one with me.” I stare at him and he shakes his head. “See, there’s the girl I knew. But now I’m wondering, which one is the real you? The only thing in here that I already knew about you was your name, that you compete in biathlon, and your parents died. I didn’t even know when or how.”

He drops the magazine on the table, drawing my eyes to a collage of pictures from the past. Smiling faces and happier times. A girl with no real cares in the world. With two loving parents and a best friend who always had her back. That’s not me anymore. I know it’s not. Time and tragedy forced that girl to grow up and do things to survive that perhaps she shouldn’t have. But neither am I the cold machine intent on her own survival that Gale knew.

When I manage to look at him again, there are still questions in his eyes, and maybe some hurt. I hate that I’m the cause of it. I don’t want him to hurt. Maybe I couldn’t give him all of who I was at the time, and I certainly can’t give him that now, but he was important to me. Maybe he still is in a way.

“I’m somewhere in between,” I whisper. But the anger is swift to return on it’s heels as what he’s saying catches up to me. “And you didn’t give me space. You gave up!”

“So that’s what it takes to win you over? Sticking around while you give nothing and I give everything?” he says.

“It’s not that simple,” I tell him.

“It never is with you. Is that what he did? Give up everything for you?”

“No! I wouldn’t ask him to do that! And he wouldn’t ask that of me!” Not like you did. But I can’t throw that in his face if I’m trying not to hurt him.

“Really? Because it doesn’t seem that way. Seems like you’re the one giving up everything. Forgetting where you come from.”

I cross my arms and lift my chin. Refuse to answer him. He has no idea what Peeta went through. What I went through or where I come from. What it took for us to find one another again.

“What I’m still trying to make sense of is why. Why you couldn’t tell any of this to me at some point in the five years we were together.”

I’m failing at fixing this. I know that I am, but I struggle with bringing together the two halves of my life and reconciling them. The anger and the hurt. Gale’s demand for answers right now gives me no time to work through it. I search for something to help me, some sign of the boy and the girl who lost so much and found comfort in one another for a short time.

“It...hurt too much to talk about it. Prim didn’t even know everything until a few months ago.”

“Well at least I’m not the only one you treat like fungus.” I shake my head, confused by his words. “Left me in the dark and fed me shit. But I think I’ve finally got you figured out.”

I’ve had enough. Maybe I had some foolish hope of at least repairing what friendship we had at some point when I asked him in, but I don’t need this right now. Not this close to the Olympics. He was my friend and I screwed that up. Then I convinced myself I was relieved when it was over and locked Gale out of my heart the same as I did everything and everyone else. And now that he’s back, all of it comes rushing to the surface. Guilt, anger, reluctant affection. All of it in a confusing mess of past and present and mangled hopes for the future. But he still doesn’t want to understand.

“You need to go,” I say, uninterested in his theories about me and stomp back towards the door. Yank it open and jump at the sight of Peeta leaning against the railing, Buttercup cradled in his hands. I’m so startled by the sight of him that all I can focus on is the damn cat and the kick of guilt as I realize I almost lost my sister’s precious pet. He must have run off outside instead of back to Prim’s room.

“Buttercup! You snuck out again! Thank goodness you found him!” I throw my arms around Peeta’s neck, squashing the cat between us. His arms hesitate for a second and then one of them is around me.

“He was running down the stairs as I came up.” Something’s wrong. Peeta’s holding me but his voice is strained. His body rigid as a board. I don’t know when or how he got here or how long he’s been standing there or why he didn’t just knock, but his posture worries me.

“And him?” Gale asks behind me. “Does he know everything? You tell him all about me? About us?”

Now the guilt isn’t just because of the cat. I step out of Peeta’s arms and stare at the tick in his jaw.

“She doesn’t need to,” Peeta says and I wonder if it would be rude to kiss him in front of Gale.

“Have fun with her, man. Maybe you’ll have better luck. The only time I could get her attention was when I was in pain.” Peeta stiffens behind me as I turn to face Gale. He shifts his focus to me. “Every time you kissed me first, or wanted to sleep with me, I was hurting. When my father died. Right before I went off to basic. When I told you I was deploying. And then there’s the two of you...” He looks down at Peeta’s leg for a second and his brows draw tight together. “Guy loses his leg when you’re fifteen and almost dies and you’re the one with him when it happens. Then his family falls apart after. There’s no way I could have competed with that, no matter how much pain I was in. Was there? Maybe I got close going into combat. But you were always going to feel guilty being with me because of him.”

My skull pounds and I shake my head, lifting a hand to rub my temple, fighting against a growing fury at his words.

“No, that’s not it,” I say and at the same time Peeta growls at him, “That’s enough.”

“Maybe it’s not,” Gale says, ignoring Peeta. “Maybe it’s that you need someone to take care of. Like using Prim as an excuse to stay here instead of going with me to New York. Whatever it is, makes for a nice little story, doesn’t it? Separated by tragedy and reunited just in time for the games. How convenient. A couple of star-crossed lovers. Just what the media wants.”

I hold myself perfectly still as we listen to his retreating footsteps. I can feel all of it pressing in on me and search for something to stabilize the tilting world beneath my feet.

But he’s here. Standing behind me. I turn and scoop Buttercup out of his arms and smile weakly up at him. My throat constricts at the expression on his face. Confusion, I think. Confusion and pain.

“Come inside,” I urge him, tugging on his coat. “I overcooked my dinner but I think I can salvage it for us.”

“I heard,” he whispers and my heart sinks as I realize just how long he was waiting out here. What he might have overheard. I try to run back through my conversation with Gale, to see if there was anything that could have hurt Peeta. I can’t remember. It all happened so fast.

“Peeta...please come inside?” Something in my tone must reach him because he shoves off the railing and picks up his duffle and boards before following me inside, setting them on the floor while I shut the door and take a good look at him. That’s when I notice that his pants are torn. A scrape on his left calf still seeping blood. “You’re hurt! What happened?”

“I fell on the stairs trying to catch Buttercup.” I reach for him, but Peeta flinches away from my touch. My breath catches as I freeze with my hand extended towards him. “Don’t. Don’t.”

“Peeta, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m not...not stupid.”

“Then let me take care of it.” He’s acting so oddly, it frightens me.

“It was him, by the way. On the bus. So when he got off at the same stop, I stayed back at the bus stop, thinking it’d seem weird if I followed too close to a complete stranger. Sent you that text asking if it was okay for me to come see you--”

“What text?” I ask and my heart leaps into my throat as I pat my pockets and look around the kitchen. There’s no sign of my phone. “Wait...just wait.”

I hurry back into my room and find it on the bed, find the picture he sent in response to my question about where he is. A scuffed up Mountain Metro logo, letting me know he was here in Colorado Springs. My hands shake as I focus on the words that follow and the breaks in time between messages where I unknowingly left him waiting for an answer.

_Wanted to see you again before I went to Canada. Before the insanity really hits. There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you._

_Is that okay?_

_Katniss?_

There’s nothing after that. But he was waiting outside my door. He’s waiting in my kitchen right now, I realize and hurry back out, phone clutched in my hands, a lifeline to hope that I haven’t screwed up everything beyond recognition tonight. I find him staring at the magazine on the table, flipping through the pages of our past.

“When you didn’t answer, I started walking, thinking you’d eventually get back to me. And the next thing I know, he’s at your door ahead of me and there’s the cat bolting down the stairs...I almost left when I heard what he said to you. I thought that you...and he...”

It’s all too much. The colliding halves of my past meeting with no warning. Two people I loved and lost.

And suddenly, I’m mad at him too.

“What did you hear, Peeta? A nice, loving reunion?”

“No. I could tell it wasn’t that. But...I’m not sure what I heard,” he admits and looks up at me, waits for me to explain. “I don’t even know what his name is or how long you’ve known him.”

“You said it was none of your business who I was with or what happened with them unless I decided it was,” I remind him.

“I know!” He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. “I know that. And I’m trying really hard to stick to that, Katniss. But none of my ex-girlfriends are knocking on the door or waiting for me. Whatever I had with them is over. Long ago. Dead.”

“You’re not being fair. The only reason Gale even showed up here tonight was because of that stupid article.”

“Is it? Seems like a bit of a stretch unless he thought there was still something between you two.” Gale’s last words to me all those years ago swim up in my mind and I shake my head. There’s no way he’s been holding out hope this long. His visit tonight...no that can’t be it. He didn’t come here to reconcile with me. I refuse to believe that’s what he planned. “So then what did he mean, about expecting you to welcome him home?”

“I don’t know!”

“Come on Katniss. Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot or like I won’t be able to figure it out. He didn’t make the trip to your doorstep if he didn’t think there was still some hope for you two.”

“We didn’t exactly part on good terms,” I tell Peeta. I don’t know why I’m so angry with him right now.

“Neither did you and I, but you still stumbled back into my life somehow,” Peeta reminds me. My fingers dig into Buttercup’s fur and he wriggles in my hold until I loosen my grip. My silence only seems to agitate Peeta further.

“Is he right? Has this all just...been a good story for the Olympics? Something to keep you busy while he was gone? Some kind of atonement for my fucking leg?”

“No! I didn’t want this story in the press at all, remember?”

“Yeah, well maybe there was a reason for that and you didn’t want to tell me.”

“You didn’t want it either! And you told Haymitch you didn’t want me dragged into this mess because of _your_ family! But that’s what happened anyways!”

He staggers back and stares at me. My heart drops as I realize what I just revealed to him. What else was said that night.

“You heard that?” I can’t bring myself to answer. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. “What else did you hear?”

His eyes widen, sudden recognition and shock on his face. I stare at the floor next to his shoes and watch him step away from me. No, not like this, I think desperately. I don’t want what I heard, what I know about his feelings to come out in anger. But I don’t know how to stop it.

“Fuck. You saw her too, didn’t you?” My head whips back up to stare at him, confused by his words. I shake my head at him. “Ryen ran into Mom at the press day. There was...there were some things in the article that didn’t make sense for them to know about unless they talked to her. I said something about it to Ryen yesterday and he...he told me he actually spoke to her. You saw her, too. Didn’t you? That’s why you dragged me out of there so fast.”

“I didn’t--”

“Don’t lie to me, Katniss!” I jump back a step at the anger in his voice and burning in his eyes. “What else are you not telling me?”

“No more than you’re not telling from me! I -- yes, I saw her okay? I didn’t want her to hurt you again. We already have so little time together and I didn’t want to waste it on her.”

“And you didn’t once think that maybe we could both deal with it better if we had each other? Or did you think I was too weak to handle it at all?”

I stutter and fumble over my answer and he shakes his head, yanks on his hair in agitation.

“I don’t...I don’t know what else to do, Katniss. I thought we were okay. That we were stronger together. That we could deal with everything. But it’s like there’s all these little things. That stupid picture with Jackie. Graham posting that video. The story not being what you wanted to tell. I...All these little things that just add up to something that’s too much. It seems like we’re fine when it’s just you and me but…You didn’t say anything.”

“Neither did you!” I yell and I realize I’m upset that he hasn’t. Hasn’t taken that leap and told me how he feels. Not in so many words. His shoulders sag and he shakes his head.

“I kept telling myself to just get through this season. Just deal with the shit the world throws at us for one season. Don’t put any pressure or expectations on you. Just be there for you, survive it all and maybe we could figure everything else out later or something after but...did he know anything about me before he read that?”  

His voice cracks and I feel the same effect in my heart. Because no matter what I say, it’ll hurt. Another casualty of the past. But he’s also saying exactly the things I was thinking. I reach towards him, towards the one thing I know can fix. Maybe if I start there, I can fix the rest. The cut on his leg that’s starting to clot. He jerks back away from me again.

“Don’t. Don’t worry about my leg, Katniss. I can take care of myself. I did just fine for ten years without you. I don’t need your guilt or your pity.”

“Peeta what are you saying?”

“I’m saying maybe I waited too long again. Maybe we already missed our shot and we’re just fooling ourselves if we think we can make whatever the hell this is work again.”

 _Whatever the hell this is._ I’m too stunned to even speak or think.

“Maybe we just need to step away from each other until after the Olympics. After your season.” I shake my head and fight the tears welling up in my eyes. Hating myself when I lean into his touch as he swipes at my tears.

“No, don’t. That’s the same thing he said when he left.” Peeta yanks his hand back like I’ve burned him and I reach for him, but I can feel him slipping away from me again.

“Or maybe you’ve been waiting for Gale all this time. That’s his name, right?” A fissure splits open in my chest and his breaking voice does nothing to stop the pain. “Were you in love with him?”

Peeta and Gale don’t coexist very well in my mind. I’ve never let them before. Would I have found a way to heal and love Gale if he’d been patient with me for a little longer? If I’d gone to New York with him? I did love him, even if only in the limited way that I could manage at the time. I know that now, but I’m not sure that would have been enough to overcome the pain of my past with Peeta still festering unresolved in my heart. And there’s still a part of me that Gale can understand that Peeta never will.

“He left,” I say desperately. “He left on a deployment and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“And how did that make you feel?” I flinch at his whispered words and I cling to the cat, the only warm, real thing within my grasp. “Is that what started your slump?

“It hurt at the time, but…”

I trail off when he turns away from me. Gathers his things and I know he’s already gone. I don’t know how to repair the damage or even how to slow it down this time. I choke on my words before I can push them out. He steps towards me, pain evident in his eyes. Our faces mere inches apart.

“And now?”

A thousand things run through me and sorting through them is impossible. Assigning them to one cause or the other a monumental task.

“I don’t know.”

“Well...you already know how I feel. That hasn’t changed. So… let me know when you figure it out.” His voice is hollow and that’s so much worse than anger.

I don't know how long I stand there, holding Buttercup and shivering in the kitchen. But when Prim comes home, I’m sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. Clinging to the cat and the feelings of nothing because that’s easier to face than the pain. If I let myself feel it now, it will truly damage me beyond repair.

I flinch when she slams the door and the cat leaps out of my grip, streaking down the hallway towards Prim’s room as she sweeps in front of me and drops her coat and her purse in a heap at her feet. Her blue eyes rage at me, her hair mussed up and her blouse askew. She skipped a button or two and it makes her shirt buckle open in a way that I can’t stop staring at. Her lacy bra is just visible through the opening.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asks and my eyes jump back up to her face. “God! You’re such a pain in the ass, Katniss! I used to look up to you and think you were smart! But I was right over the summer. You’re an idiot with boys!”

“Your shirt--”

“I know about my shirt! Don’t think I don’t! Now shut up and stop changing the subject! Explain to me why I’m stuck here dealing with _your_ shit? Hmmm? You’re screwing with my night! I am supposed to be upside down and getting fucked senseless right now, but noooooo!” I flinch as she picks up a throw pillow and well...throws it at me. I barely deflect it from hitting my face. “ _My_ boyfriend hightails it to the airport to keep _your_ boyfriend from getting on a fucking plane to Canada and leaves me with wet panties and no cinnamon rolls! I was _this_ close to getting my cinnamon rolls!”

“Your boyfriend?” I ask and she screeches before throwing another pillow at me. I manage to catch this one.

“That would be the only thing you hear! Get up! Get up and wake the fuck up, Katniss!”

“Hey!” I shout, standing to dodge the next pillowed missile she launches at me. Seriously, how many throw pillows do we have? Her phone goes off and she stops long enough to look at it, but she only screams louder at the message.

“That’s it! I have had it with you two morons! Get in your room! Where is your suitcase?”

“I thought you were just having fun and sex with Ryen? When did--”

“Not now! You’re packing your bag this instant and getting on a plane to Canada tomorrow,” she says as she types out a furious text. “I’d put your ass on one tonight if there were any more flights left out of here, but your stubborn boyfriend just left on the last one! You are not going to Korea without fixing this!”

“Prim, he’s not going to want to see me. I’ll just cause problems if I’m there.”

“Bullshit! Get on that plane tomorrow and maybe I’ll still get my cinnamon rolls sometime this century!”

“Okay, what is with the cinnamon rolls?” I ask and she buries her face in her hands.

“Never mind the cinnamon rolls. Would you please just admit that you’re in love with Peeta?”

“Prim--”

“No! No excuses!” she shouts and her fingers fly over her phone again before she shoves it in my face. “Look at your fucking face, Katniss! You don’t make this face around Gale! You never did! Or anyone else, for that matter!”

“Gale left. And how do you--”

“Good riddance!” She screeches and I freeze, utterly confused by this turn of events.

“I thought you liked Gale?”

“Yeah, I did. Right up until the point when he hurt my sister two years ago and decided his brother shouldn’t date me!”

“When was that?”

“You were gone! It’s always while you’re gone!” Another pillow flies by me.

“I don’t know these things if you don’t tell me!” I scream back at her, furious that all of this mess is somehow being heaped on my back. I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets here.

“Fine! I slept with Rory when I was eighteen. Don’t look at me like that. He wasn’t my first, but I thought I might be in love with him Then he refused to date me because Gale thought it was a bad idea, I was too blonde or not Native enough or not pure enough or just because I was related to you and Gale couldn’t get what he wanted from you as fast as he wanted it. Fuck if I know! Rory never gave me a straight answer. Whatever it was, it fucking hurt! But I got over it. Now you do the same!”

I glance down at the image on the phone she’s still shoving in my face. It’s of me and Peeta. I’m laughing and looking up at him like I’m besotted. He’s smiling at me and looks about the same. My heart skips for a second and then pounds in my chest. Do we really look like that when we’re together?

“Yes, you do,” Prim whines and I step back, tugging on my braid as I realize I asked that out loud. “Everyone can see it except for you. You’re happy with him, Katniss. I want you to be happy. Maybe not all the time, I know that’s not possible, but don’t you want some happiness, too? What’s the point of all this,” she waves her arms around wildly, “if you’re miserable? He’s there for you and you’re there for him. Do you even own a map? You went halfway around the world for him and he did the same for you! You never have to second guess him or what he wants from you. So why are you just standing there and letting him walk away?”

I collapse back on the couch and stare at the floor as it sinks in just how horribly I’ve messed this up. And then, I start talking. My voice starts out wavering and gradually gains strength. Vocalizing some of these things makes others more clear. At some point, Prim sits next to me. Buttercup joins us as I spill out everything. How we’ve been skating over the cracks instead of dealing with them. Just trying to get through. What I wanted from this season and how it took me a long time to come to terms with it. How that was taken away when Graham posted his video and the mania of my connection to the name Mellark overshadowed -- erased -- half of who I am. How that half of me will always be tied to Gale in a way. Just as skiing will always be tied to Peeta.

“Why does it have to be one or the other?” she asks and I stare at her. She tucks my hair behind my ear and sighs. “I know it’s not easy or simple, but why do you have to choose between two halves? You’re both. And if you want to honor the half that’s overshadowed by that article, then bring it back to the light. Talk about it. Tell Peeta how you feel. Tell him about Gale. All of it. Good and bad. It’ll hurt, but I think you both need it. He loves you, Katniss. He’s not going to ask you to give up that part of who you are. Use your voice instead of hiding it. I don’t think you realize how many people will listen to you. Even if it’s just a few, it’ll be worth it. You’ll think of a way, I know you will. But don’t leave each other hurting and alone. Not again.”

“You make it sound so easy when it’s really so messy,” I say and she shakes her head.

“Even Mom and Dad sometimes disagreed about these things, remember?” I shake my head and she smiles at me. “I do. But they learned to be better for each other, because they loved one another. Peeta will do the same for you.”

I can’t stop staring at my sister. Because she’s right. Maybe Gale is tied to half of who I am, but Peeta’s tied to the other half. And I know, like she does, that Peeta won’t ask me to choose. Won’t ask me to deny half of my identity. Not intentionally, at least. Not if I explain it to him. If I am painfully open and honest with him. He won’t let me fall alone.

It’s a marvel, the woman Prim became without me realizing it. I wonder what our mother would think of her. If I’ve somehow let our parents down with the way things have been between Prim and I all these years.

They’d be proud of her, I decide. Both of them would. I don’t know how I know it as Prim tugs on my braid like I used to do with hers all the time. But I do.

“When did you get so wise?” Prim smiles at my words and then her arms are around me. She holds me close and I relax into her embrace.

“I told you. I had amazing role models. You and Haymitch. But even role models are sometimes wrong.”

“I should talk to you about these things more often,” I mutter and she nods.

“You should. Now where’s your suitcase?”

We pack my bags. Prim pretends to be my manager and sweet talks the airlines into changing my flight without the fees. We let Haymitch know of the change in my flight to a day earlier, and then fall exhausted on my bed. Somewhere in there we salvage the dinner I started and eat it.

“Are you going to tell me what’s happening with you and Ryen?” I whisper as we lay on my bed and she takes a deep breath.

“He’s not what you think he is, Katniss. I mean, maybe he was, but they all knew what they were getting into with him. I thought I did too. But, when he’s not making me come so hard I can’t speak, there’s so much more. A whole side to him...to us...that people don’t get to see. He’s honest and sweet and funny and he treats me like a queen. And he’s just as scared as I am. Maybe we started as something casual, but then...I don’t know. When I’m with him...I can be me. Just me. I don’t have to act like I’m perfect or have it all together.”

I blink in the night and watch her as she sniffles. Wait for her to keep going.

“We rescued and adopted a dog together. His name is Waffles. We tried to keep it casual, because that’s what we both wanted at first and I guess we both thought that’s all we could manage or deserve. But it’s not. Not since...anyways. It’s good now. Cinnamon roll worthy, I think.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask and she chuckles for a moment before she opens her eyes and looks straight at me as she explains.

“When we first started this whole casual thing...he said he always provides breakfast the morning after but that he’s never made cinnamon rolls for his women because that would make them fall in love with him.”

“So if he makes you cinnamon rolls…”

“Then he wants me to love him.”

“But you already do?” She nods, further messing up her already tangled hair as she rubs it against the pillow.

“Oh Prim,” I say and hold her close as she sniffles again. We fall asleep like that, the way we used to on the worst nights in Michigan. Her ugly cat curls up between our legs and remains there, guarding us both through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious...Gale would be in the 10th Mountain Division, stationed at Ft Drum, which is in north central New York, close to the border with Canada.
> 
> To buttercupbadass for reading this when it was a heaping pile of trash and helping me through character development issues and a million other things to make it readable.
> 
> All right...do your worst. I can take it. <3


	24. A Twisted Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW WARNINGS: Discussions of child abuse, domestic abuse, verbal and emotional abuse. Vague hints of sexual abuse. Nothing graphic, but just in case these are things that trigger someone, want you to be prepared. 
> 
> FLASHBACK covers July 2014 to December 2015
> 
> For the ladies who are the reason this story even exists...savvylark, honeylime08, and buttercupbadass -- who has been an editing savior and the voice chasing away the doubts. Thank you my friends. <3
> 
> To the readers who have commented, dissected, encouraged and asked for more...to the readers who find the holes and ask the tough questions...thank you. You’re the push that makes me look twice and question everything, which hopefully makes this a better story and me a better writer. Thank you for your patience in waiting for this update. I humbly offer you this behemoth just in time for the weekend. Happy reading. <3 KDNFB

_Johanna pauses just inside the door and Peeta steps around her to park the luggage cart with all her things on it in the great room. She peers around at the rustic decor with shades of Nordic inspiration, the huge stone fireplace at the center, and lifts one eyebrow at Peeta._

_“Come on, this way,” he says and motions down the hallway towards the suite of rooms that once belonged to his parents. “Gramps had all of them freshened up so you can have your pick of rooms, but this one is the nicest.” He flips on the lights, even though the setting sun still streams in through the windows on one side of the sitting room, and Johanna steps into the space. The faint scent of glass cleaner and wood polish lingers in the air._

_“Freshly vacuumed and everything,” Johanna says and runs one finger over the table along the wall with a vase of fresh cut flowers and two marble statuettes of deer. “Spotless. It’s like a fucking museum.”_

_“It’s got the best view,” Peeta says as she wanders into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to eye the massive bed._

_“Anyone use it in the last decade?”_

_“Graham and Savannah stay in here when they visit.”_

_“But this wasn’t all his as a kid, was it?”_

_“My parents,” Peeta says by way of explanation and Johanna walks over to the wide window with a view of the peaks._

_“Well you’re right about the view. But it’s kind of cold.”_

_He glances around at the stark decor and nods. “We can adjust the thermostat. I think this set of rooms has its own separate controls.”_

_“Your parents had a shitty marriage didn’t they?”_

_“They got divorced around five...six years ago.”_

_“Yeah. I can tell.” Peeta shakes his head, confused by this. Johanna waves at the room. “No family pictures or mementos. It’s like a hotel room. Not some place someone lived in once.”_

_Peeta stares at the room, really looks at it, for the first time in years and tries to remember if they've changed anything since his dad moved out. He doesn’t think they have._

_“What about Graham’s old room?”_

_“Uh, well it’s been turned into a room for four little girls,” Peeta explains, running a hand through his hair._

_“For your nieces.”_

_“Yep. You could use it if you don’t mind sleeping in a bunk bed or a room decorated with flowers and unicorns.”_

_“They use it a lot?”_

_“Not really,” he admits and Johanna hums. “So you want me to bring your things in here?”_

_“What about the other brother? He’s gotta have a room in this penthouse estate,” she drawls and Peeta chuckles._

_“He does, but since this was kind of a last minute visit, there wasn’t time to have the mattress and carpet disinfected, so I’d advise against sleeping in Ryen’s room.”_

_Her eyes narrow at him and he coughs in the awkward silence. She’s never met either of his brothers. Only heard him talk about them every now and then. Johanna’s never even been in this portion of the hotel before and he feels a little raw having all of this exposed to someone outside the family._

_“Guess this’ll work,” she says and picks a knick knack up off one of the end tables and examines it. “It’s only temporary, right?”_

_“For as long as you need,” Peeta reiterates and heads back to the living room to get the luggage cart. There’s not much and it only takes her a minute to unload. “Bathroom’s through the bedroom if you want to take a shower.”_

_She nods and he heads downstairs to get his own things from the Jeep. On the way back up, Gramps intercepts him, walks with him._

_“How was the wedding? Must have been interesting if you’re bringing home a date who is not your girlfriend.”_

_“Johanna’s a friend from school. You’ve met her before, Gramps.” Peeta slows his step so Gramps can keep pace. His hips have been bothering him and he’s started walking with the use of a cane._

_“A friend with spiked hair and turquoise tips. An interesting change from Miss Lavinia.”_

_“The tips are purple this month,” Peeta says, ignoring the implied question about Lavinia as they step onto the elevator and Gramps presses the button to take them up._

_“You did not answer my question.” So much for avoidance._

_“The wedding was fine. Very lovely. Dad’s married again. Congratulations to him.”_

_“And Lavinia?” Peeta squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose._

_“Went back to Sacramento. She has a job and a life there.”_

_“I see…”_

_He can feel his grandfather’s eyes boring into him and finally looks over to find Gramps focused intently on his face._

_“You seem...disturbed. Was it a messy break this time?”_

_“Well she greeted me at the airport by saying she might be pregnant. Turns out she isn’t, but other than the baby scare I’d say it went fairly cleanly.” Gramps barely reacts to Peeta’s news and Peeta curses. The doors slide open and he hurries off and down the short hallway to the front door. He manages to get it open just as Gramps pulls even with him._

_“You have got to stop blaming only yourself for these things,” Gramps murmurs and enters the suite ahead of Peeta, who stands there and clenches his fist, resisting the urge to put it through the wall. He’s got bigger problems to deal with than his complete failure as a romantic partner._

_“Who do you suggest I blame?” he asks as he throws his bags on the floor next to the sofa, not caring if the suit gets wrinkled, before turning back to face his grandfather._

_“Just as it takes two to make a relationship work, it takes two to allow it to fail.”_

_“Nice,” Peeta says with a quirk to his lips. “You’ve been practicing that one all afternoon, haven’t you?”_

_“Perhaps a little,” Gramps says with a guilty tilt of his head. “Is it that obvious?”_

_“Was it that obvious on the phone that Lavinia and I broke up?”_

_“You brought another woman home,” Gramps says sardonically and Peeta sighs._

_“A friend, Gramps. She was in trouble.”_

_“What kind of trouble?”_

_“Jerk for a boyfriend trouble. And no, we do not need to be each other’s rebound, so don’t even suggest it. She needs some time to get her feet back under her. Find a job, place to live, new phone number, that sort of thing.”_

_“Sure it’s her that needs all that?” Peeta doesn’t answer that and Gramps sighs. “Well she is welcome here. I believe they are looking for a server in the restaurant, a groundskeeper if she prefers to work outdoors, and the rangers are also seeking some part time help with trail maintenance if she prefers some solitude and isolation. If not, I am sure we can find a spot for her as a desk clerk or some other administrative position,” Gramps says and Peeta’s heart warms at his grandfather’s unfailing generosity._

_“Thanks, Gramps.”_

_“Of course,” he says and smiles as a door down the hallway opens. Johanna emerges, dressed in fresh clothes, her hair laying flat instead of spiked._

_“Nice pad you’ve got here, Mr. Tjaland. Thanks for letting me crash.”_

_“You are always welcome here, Miss Mason,” he says as he welcomes her with a warm hug._

_“I think I’m just gonna go check out one of the four dozen hiking trails,” she says, stepping back out of his embrace._

_“Give me a second and I’ll go with you,” Peeta offers and Jo shakes her head._

_“I think I need some time alone to think,” she says._

_While Johanna is off exploring the trails, Peeta unpacks and gets back to work. Their event planner has at least a dozen issues to discuss and then Gramps hands him a list for winter preparations Peeta will need to deal with before he heads back to school at the end of summer. He even squeezes in an hour for sketching so he’s got design possibilities to send to a potential customer._

_It’s late by the time he heads upstairs to the owner’s suite and finds Johanna passed out on the couch in his parents’ -- in her -- suite of rooms. The TV is still on and Peeta covers her with a blanket, turns off the television and heads to bed himself._

_In the morning, he offers her her pick of jobs from those available and two days later, she’s on the trails with the rangers, wearing a Skadi t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, a flannel shirt tied around her waist, jeans and a pair of tinted safety glasses covering her eyes. Peeta takes a picture and sends it to Finnick._

_“I know where you sleep, Mellark,” Johanna says when Finnick’s jokes about her looking a little out of place as a lumberjack start rolling in. But she’s up early for work every morning and doesn’t miss a single day._

_One morning, Peeta emerges from his room only to run right into her in the hallway. She’s tracing her fingers over the intricately carved wooden rack that stretches the entire length of the hall — from the great room down to Ryen’s old room._

_“All this for one snowboard?” she asks and Peeta stiffens as she pops open the cabinet above where his board hangs and finds his helmet, goggles, bits of wax, a bottle of sunscreen, and gloves. “Seems a bit excessive. I’m actually surprised you keep your board here instead of sleeping with it.”_

_“This rack’s been there for years. As long as I can remember,” he explains, ignoring the jab at how attached he is to his board. She moves to the next cabinet, pulls out a dusty set of goggles with a crack in the lens and the initials R.E.M. penned in Sharpie on the head strap._

_“As in the band?”_

_“No,” Peeta laughs and thinks of five hundred wisecracks over the dinner table. “Ryen Eirik Mellark.”_

_She glances back at him and gives him a wicked grin. “Oh there’s so much material there.”_

_“It’s all been used, I promise you.”_

_She tosses the old goggles back in and moves down the line, wondering what else she’ll find in this relic from the past. “So there were three of you…”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“There’s space to store at least a dozen pairs of skis here. Maybe two dozen.”_

_“Well at one point, all of us had a pair for downhill, one for cross country. I had snowboards. Ryen and Graham had more than one set for competitions. Mom had hers. Gramps had a pair or two before his hips started bothering him.”_

_“Shit that’s a lot of skis.”_

_“Yeah.” He looks up and down the almost completely empty rack. Only his board hanging from it now._

_“Your dad didn’t…?”_

_Peeta shakes his head. “Nah, he never liked it much.”_

_She opens another cabinet and finds a tube of Lip Smackers and one pink glove. Holds them out for Peeta to see._

_“Ariel, my niece,” he explains and she nods. When she tosses them back and shuts the door, she turns to Peeta and crosses her arms._

_“I’ve got the day off. Any touristy suggestions?”_

_She rides the tram to the top of the mountains, cruises the town and eventually texts Peeta that she’s got a new phone number and he’s a workaholic and should join her for dinner. He answers that he just needs to finish one thing and after finishing the repairs, and a brief discussion with Thom about boosting WiFi speed for the cabin guests, he heads out of The Locker, brought up short when he finds Johanna twirling one of her leather cuffs around her wrist and staring at the pictures on The Wall._

_“How’d you get back here?”_

_“Eirik told me where to find you,” she says and points to one of the pictures. “Is this you?”_

_He glances up at the image of him, eternally suspended over a half pipe, the X Games logo easily visible in the background. “Yeah,” he croaks out the word and clears his throat, ignoring the look Johanna gives him._

_“You used to compete too?”_

_“Yeah, that was years ago.”_

_They stand there awkwardly and she moves down the line, asking about pictures of Ryen and Graham and the three of them together as well as several of the year round families who show up in multiple pictures. Some of the more famous athletes who’ve paid them a visit through the years. He’s astonished at how easily he remembers names and dates. Even though he walks past this every day he’s at home, he hasn’t looked at these pictures in a long time._

_“Who’s the girl?” Johanna asks and Peeta’s blood runs hot for a second before turning ice cold as he stares at the familiar face beneath Johanna’s hovering finger, a beaded charm caught in her teeth and a playful smile on her face. A saucy lift of one eyebrow and a glossy braid draped over her shoulder. The grouped fletchings of a quiver full of arrows just visible over that same shoulder._

_“Her parents used to work here,” he says and tries to move to another picture to distract Johanna._

_“She’s in a lot of these. Almost every picture you’re in, she’s there too.”_

_“Same age. Small community,” he explains, but he can tell Johanna doesn’t believe him for a second. “What did you have in mind for dinner?”_

_Johanna lets it go and Peeta breathes a sigh of relief as they head off in search of food._

_A stray husky that Peeta thinks is more wolf than dog starts following her around. Johanna names her Pikoi. She mentions that she misses the surf in Maui and California and Peeta scrounges up a wetsuit and a surfboard, drives her to one of the gentler rapids and sits on the rocks along the bank with his sketchbook._

_“You’re joking, right?” she asks and Peeta shakes his head._

_“Used to do this all the time in summer. It’s a little more difficult now,” he says, motioning towards his leg. He watches from the bank, calling out tips to her as she struggles for about twenty minutes before she gets the hang of it and surfs the rapids. Peeta whoops and claps, egging her on. She flips the bird at him right as she loses it and wipes out, reemerging with a smile on her face, and getting right back up on the board._

_“Alright, that was awesome,” she concedes much later as she lays out on a rock beside him and stares up through the canopy. He keeps working on his sketch with a smile on his face. It dies when Johanna speaks again._

_“So what happened to her?”_

_“Who?” he says, hoping he’s wrong about what she’s asking._

_“The girl in all the pictures with you.”_

_He continues drawing, unaware of the bouncing of his right leg in agitation. Finally, he speaks. “She, uh, her parents died. Killed by a drunk driver. She and her sister left to go live with relatives in Michigan.”_

_Johanna nods and lays back, folds her arms over her eyes and doesn’t ask anymore._

_“I don’t know how I keep getting into this mess,” she says and Peeta glances down at her. Waits for her to follow that up with more. He’s been waiting for her to start talking about it. “First Keith, now Max. Why do I only attract assholes?”_

_“Birds of a feather,” he says and she punches his arm._

_“That makes you an asshole too,” she says. He laughs and looks back down at her, sobering in the face of her half smirk._

_“Biggest of them all,” he says and she scoffs._

_They fall into a routine of sorts. Take long hikes in relative silence. Blare screaming rock in The Locker as she helps him fabricate skis. She spends time with Gramps, listening to stories of Peeta and his brothers. He stays away when Gramps gets started with those, making excuses and adding to his list of things to take care of so he won’t have to listen to all the memories. All the reminders of things that will never be again._

_Old dreams resurface, nightmarish images he can’t sort through. Some seem so real, others jerk and sputter with a hazy sheen over them, obscuring so many things he thought he knew. Late at night, he wanders into the kitchen, stares into the fridge like it might provide answers as he listens to Johanna’s whimpers and shouts from down the hall. Debates the wisdom of waking his friend and interrupting her nightmares. In the end, he doesn’t have to. She wakes on her own and joins him at the table without a word. They sip water or munch on crackers in relative silence. Some nights he wakes first, others she wakes first. They become familiar with each other’s shouts of distress._

_A month after his Dad’s wedding in Salt Lake, Lavinia sends Peeta one text._

Still not pregnant.

_There’s nothing from her after that._

_“You two were close,” Johanna says two days before he’s supposed to go back to San Diego for school and he almost runs into her along The Wall again. This time in the morning. His gaze jerks to the side at where she’s looking and he glares at his own stupidly smiling face, full of braces and happiness and naive hopes as he sits in the snow at the base of the mountain. Katniss leaning up against his back with her tongue hanging out, her eyes rolled in a goofy expression, arms draped over his shoulders. “But you never talk about her.”_

_“We lost touch years ago,” he says by way of explanation then asks Johanna about the design he’s working on for a snowboard to distract her. It doesn’t work this time._

_“What’s with the rifle she carries in half these?”_

_“She competes in biathlon,” he explains. He’s barely got the answer out before Johanna asks another question._

_“What was her name, Board Brain?” she asks and gets in his face. It’s quite an accomplishment for someone as short as her. He stares her down and challenges back. She sighs and crosses her arms. “Fine. Come on.”_

_Johanna leads him out to the edges of one of the trails and sits on a worn smooth tree stump. He stands off to the side and waits, declines the invite to sit next to her. She curls up on the stump and hugs her knees to her chest, talks in a monotone of a father who called her “Pretty Girl” and left bruises on her skin. Asked why she was so unruly when she was such a Pretty Girl. Then a boyfriend who called her his light, his love, and how hopeful she’d been that she could finally work past the horrors of her past._

_Until she wasn’t good enough for him anymore. She had too many boys for friends and he didn’t like that. That was Keith. Peeta nods, remembering the day she called Finnick from Keith’s bathroom and they drove over to his place, watched her crawl from the window and down the fire escape._

_“Don’t ask a fucking thing!” she had snarled as they drove away, hiding the bruises on her shoulder, the tear in her dress. They didn’t ask. Not until Keith came pounding on Finnick’s door looking for Johanna. So they could work things out, Keith had said. She’d been fast asleep on Finnick’s bed and Peeta had lied about where she was to get rid of Keith. Give her more time and an alibi if she needed it._

_Then came Max, who she met through a friend in Salt Lake City after graduation. Who apparently needed to know her every movement, “For my safety,” she says with a sneer. “It got out of hand and he caused a scene at the office one day. So they fired me. And he started yelling about how worthless and expensive I was.”_

_She keeps talking and Peeta listens. Talking about the slow descent from what you believe is love, because there’s affection and terms of endearment, that descends into something bitter and poisonous instead of growing into something strong. Bitter and filled with doubts and subtle jabs disguised as concern. How impossible it is to see it coming because there’s still the affection and declarations of caring. That “this is what’s best for you” or “I’m only trying to protect you.”_

_The gradual realization that you were never good enough, will never be good enough. How scared she is that she’ll miss him anyway, the way she did with Keith and how it won’t be him that she misses but the idea that someone could love her so much that she’s their whole world. Even if that idea is a lie._

_When she’s done, she glares up at Peeta, as though it’s all his fault for her confiding in him._

_“Anything else?” he asks gently when she stops talking._

_“Isn’t that enough?” she asks with a snort and Peeta smiles, finally sits next to her._

_“Yeah, it’s more than enough.” She leans against his shoulder._

_“What was her name?” They listen to the soft sounds of the forest, birds chirping their songs. A lone dove calling out for its mate._

_“Katniss,” he whispers. Has to swallow before he can say the whole thing. “Katniss Everdeen.”_

_“Do you miss her?”_

_Every damn day._

_Instead he lets out a puff of air and says something less pathetic. “I did at first, but not anymore. We were fifteen when she left.”_

_He has a few hours to himself the next day when Johanna claims exhaustion and takes a late afternoon nap. He’s ashamed at how long it took him to come here, and an apology is the first thing out of his mouth, right before he digs up the dirt behind the two headstones to plant their namesakes. By the time he’s done, he’s sweating and breathing heavy, but there’s a strange lightness in his heart as he sits back and watches the sky darken._

_When the caretaker stops by to remind him that they close at sunset, Peeta nods. The caretaker tilts his head and stares at the plants._

_“I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it back to check on them and I know it’s late in the year to plant the lilies…”_

_“I’ll keep an eye on them,” the man promises and Peeta thanks him._

_That night, as he leaves the hall bathroom, he comes face to face with Johanna in one of his t-shirts. She tears it off her body and drops it to the floor._

_“I sleep better after a good fuck,” she whispers. His body responds to her nudity, but his head screams at him. “You wanna fuck away the bad dreams?”_

_He rests his hands on her shoulders. She shivers and he pushes her gently back._

_“Jo, we both know this would be a mistake.”_

_Her lip quivers and she stalks naked back down the hall towards his parents’ old room. “Yeah. You’re too fucking nice for me, aren’t you?” she accuses and slams the door before he can explain._

_In the morning, she’s already in the kitchen making breakfast when he wakes. He’s ragged and exhausted, having spent the night fighting nightmares and worries about his friend._

_Johanna curses and sucks on her burned thumb before turning and handing him a plate. She starts talking about searching for a job somewhere else. Maybe back home in Maui and he guesses that’s as close as they’re going to get to an agreement on what happened last night. But the next day, as he’s loading up his Jeep to return to school, she stands toe to toe with him, her arms crossed and her eyes defiant._

_“It would’ve been the best fuck of your life,” she says and all he can do is stare as she works the rest out of her throat. “Well, your loss. At least I don’t have any regrets.”_

_Peeta buries himself in school work, determined to make this semester a good one. It’s his last after all. The bad dreams gradually recede. He asks the girl who sits next to him in his Spanish class on a handful of dates but after one lackluster kiss, they agree. There just aren’t any sparks. She’s still his friend at the end of the semester, at least._

_He’s somehow unsurprised when it’s Gramps and Johanna who make the long trip to San Diego for his graduation. She’s still living and working at Skadi. Ryen at least calls. Graham and Savannah send a card and a gift that Peeta can tell Savannah picked out. Finnick and Annie send a video greeting from somewhere in Australia. Darius and the twins all call at some point in the day to congratulate him._

_Back in Wyoming, there’s a gift from his Dad, with a note saying he wanted to make sure Peeta got the gift and didn’t miss him in San Diego, an open offer to come visit in Salt Lake anytime Peeta wants. He calls to thank his dad. Leaves a message that begins a long game of phone tag._

_Johanna tells Peeta about a job offer in Arizona. It’s not Maui, but she shrugs and ruffles her spikes. Yellow tipped this month. “At least it’s warm there most of the year.”_

_They glance out the windows at the snow covered mountains and laugh. While she enjoys the slopes and snowboarding, she’s always been up front about summer and surfing being her first love. As they head down the hallway towards their respective rooms, she elbows him._

_“Offer’s still open for no strings sex. Think of it as a graduation present,” she purrs and for a second, he considers it. But he shakes his head._

_“That’s not what I’m looking for, Jo. And honestly, I’ve already lost enough friends that way. I don’t want to lose you, too.”_

_“Fucking hell. I knew you’d say something smart like that.” For a moment he thinks maybe she’s hurt or mad, but she shakes her head with a smile and waves over her shoulder at him, sounds exasperated as she says, “Sweet dreams, Blondie.”_

_Finnick and Annie brave the cold to help her move in January. She’s accumulated a fair amount of things during her time in Wyoming. She completely redid his parents’ old suite and plans on taking everything with her. She calls from Arizona and tells Peeta about her new job, her new apartment. Complains about the lack of water and surf. Says that there’s nothing like the palms, the flowers, and papayas of her home and Arizona has a serious lack of decent greenery. She sends pictures of her new tattoos and asks Peeta to check on Pikoi, who Peeta hasn’t seen since summer._

_His days begin to blend together, filled with work and spare time spent with Gramps or searching out new bands to listen to while he works in The Locker. Then one day Johana calls to tell him she’s taking a martial arts class and there’s this girl…she’s kind of cute, Johanna says._

_He worries about her and Finnick worries, too. But the more they hear about Johanna’s life and about this girl in the martial arts class, the more they relax._

_The seasons shift one into the next. Sometime in late November, all his friends congregate at Skadi for a weekend. Johanna tells Finnick and Peeta that things didn’t work out with the girl from Judo class, but she’s got some scary self defense skills and feels a lot better about her life now._

_Peeta walks into The Locker late one night when he can’t sleep and turns right back around when he hears the moans and slapping skin. Johanna’s high pitched pleading._

Next time, at least keep it out of my workspace

_He texts her an hour later and she sends back a sheepish looking emoji. She at least does as he asks after that. She and Pollux grow closer and become more obvious, although they claim they’re just fuck buddies. Peeta wonders at his total lack of caring, but the truth is, he’s glad he didn’t pursue that avenue with her. Especially when he and Johanna riff off each other, giving Finnick shit for wiping out just shy of a tree one day._

_“Hey!” Finnick protests with a good natured laugh. “This body and this face with my mad surfing skills? Had to suck it up at something or life just wouldn’t be fair.”_

_Peeta’s glad again later that day when they’re headed back into the lodge and Gramps stops them to take a picture, claiming that this one is definitely going up on The Wall. Johanna gives him a knowing look then glances at Finnick and somehow Peeta knows that Johanna shared what she learned over the summer about his past with Finnick._

_Between the two of them, they know more than he’d like. He tries to shrug it off, since he knows so much about their pasts now, almost manages it when the picture of the six of them together winds up near the door leading into The Locker. At least he won’t have any regrets where they’re concerned, he thinks as he flips off the lights one late December night and smiles at his friends in photographic form before heading upstairs._

_He finds Gramps in his office, illuminated only by the lamp on the desk. Eyes glassy, a crystal glass and a half empty bottle of Vodka nearby on the desk, a leather folio in his hand. As his eyes lift up to meet Peeta’s, Eirik snaps the folio shut. And for the first time in his life, Peeta thinks he sees fear in his grandfather’s eyes. Fear and pain._

* * *

 

In the morning, I make coffee. Fill it with cream and sip carefully. Stare at the magazine still sitting on the kitchen table. I try to call Peeta, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. I take a shaky breath and push back a hundred hurtful conclusions to leave a message. To tell him that I’ll be at Big White later this afternoon and I was hoping we could talk. If he wants to see me. That I understand if he wants me to stay away.

I think about telling him that I bought the tickets two weeks ago, but I’m not sure that helps. Besides, as Prim drives us to the airport, Haymitch grumbling in the backseat about last minute changes and inhumanly early wake up calls, anger creeps back in.

He promised. Peeta promised we’d answer the phone this time. That who I was with in the years between then and now didn’t matter. Both those promises forgotten at the first sign of adversity. I consider not getting on the plane at all, but in the end, my feet carry me without thought through check in and then straight to security.

Because this wasn’t the first sign of adversity at all. How often did I think that everything was falling apart over the past month? It feels almost like instinct as I move towards him, but that makes no sense.

Before I go through security, Prim stops me, pulls me into her arms. “I love you, Katniss. I’ll see all of you in Korea in a few days. You’re gonna be amazing there.”

It’s a sobering reminder, just how close we are to the Olympics now. Merely days.

“Let me know when you get there, okay?” I nod and Prim tightens her hold on me. “And let me know how things go with Peeta?”

“I don’t want to interrupt anything…” I trail off, conscious of Haymitch just a few feet away, talking into his phone and nodding, brow creased in thought.

“You won’t be. You’re the strongest person I know, Katniss. I don’t know how you survived some of the things that you’ve gone through. Just this once, worry more about yourself than you do me. That’s all I want right now. The rest can wait.”

Tears burn in my eyes and I nod against her shoulder.

“Are you going to be alright?” I ask.

“I always am. Just promise me you won’t give up, won’t shut everyone out again.” I step back and stare at her for a moment and my stomach sinks, heavy in my gut. I have no idea if Peeta will even want to talk to me. This might be the waste of a trip. But I know that I will regret it forever if I don’t try. If I don’t give this everything I have.

Because sometimes we say things we don’t really mean and wish we could take back or we can’t find the exact right words when we’re angry or hurting. And other times, we hold back the things that we should say. Need to say. Hold them close as a shield against the world and the pain.

“You’ll work it out, I know you will. He loves you. Just promise me you’ll keep trying?”

“I promise,” I tell her and she smiles, gives me a gentle nudge towards security.

“Get outta here. You’re cramping my style,” she says and I laugh.

“No orgies while I’m gone,” I admonish in a whisper and she shakes her head, her ponytail swinging and her eyes bright.

“No. I think I might be done with those.”

Haymitch finishes his phone call and hugs Prim, gives her a few words and then tells me we have a lot to talk about on the plane. I fight back the feeling that I’m sitting in the principal’s office, awaiting a verdict for some smart mouthed thing I said to a teacher. Or punishment for a fight that started because of me, even though I never threw a single punch…It’s a little surreal.

I wave to Prim one last time and then turn to show my passport and ticket to the TSA agent. When we’re through security, I tell Haymitch that I’m getting some water.

“Do you want anything?” I offer as he folds himself into a chair at our gate and looks up at me with a knowing look in his eyes. He can tell I’m avoiding this conversation.

“I’ll take a water if you’re paying. Since you scrambled up my day off and now I’m gonna have to work details from Canada instead of the comfort of my living room.”

I want to ask what details, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out so I glare at him and head back up the concourse to the bookstore. I grab two bottles of water from a fridge and turn, only to come face to face with myself. I blink at the picture of Peeta and I, slightly staggered with me in front of him. His board resting on his shoulders. Blonde curls falling across his forehead. Braid draped over my shoulder. My skis upright in my hand. Both of us smiling at the camera with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. Easily recognizable as ourselves.

So happy. So hopeful. So close.

That’s what Gale saw when he got home from overseas. A random glance at a bookshelf and there I was, smiling next to Peeta and the words “Olympic and Paralympic Preview” hovering beside us. Gale once told me that I only smiled when I was in the woods. On the rare occasion that we would venture into Her arms to escape the noise of town and the pressures of responsibility.

But that wasn’t true. Not even back then. Perhaps my smiles were rare, but Prim was able to sometimes draw real smiles and even laughter from me, too.

And it’s clearly not true now. Octavia didn’t even have to remind me to smile while I was standing next to Peeta, not even in the midst of all the stress and trepidation I was feeling at the time.

I grab a copy and hurry to pay, hoping the cashier doesn’t make the connection between my face and that of the girl on the cover as I stuff the thing in my bag and we wait for my credit card to go through.

“Thanks!” I say as soon as the electronic pad says _Approved_ and before he can ask if I want my receipt.

Haymitch grunts and scowls at me when I drop his water square in his lap. “We need to work on your manners.”

“Well you did such a fine job setting the example. I can only hope to achieve your level of mastery one day.”

“Sit,” he orders and I drop into the chair, twist the cap off my water and chug.

“Fucking boys,” he mutters and I glance at him, watch him shake his head before tipping it back onto his seat. He looks like he’s settling in for a nap, not a lecture.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, Sweetheart, we’re flying up to Canada a full day earlier than planned and yet you’re grouchy and sullen. If we were leaving early just so you could spend more time knocking boots with Cupcake, you’d be smiling like a besotted school girl. Which means...you had a fight.” I glare at the ground and don’t answer. I don’t like being such an open book, all my feelings up for scrutiny. “You wanna tell me what happened or should I just draw some wild conjectures based on what Prim told me?”

“What did Prim tell you?”

“That the shit hit the fan when a destructive wind blew in, and as usual, we’re stuck cleaning up the mess.” I snort and we sit, watching people hurry past, all of them with urgent business or families to get to. Or maybe to run away from. “Which one do I need to make disappear?”

“What? Neither,” I say with a shake of my head. “I want...I want a chance to fix things with Peeta. And this wasn’t his fault.”

“And Gale?”

I mull this over and over. It still hurts a little, thinking of the way he left two years ago. But the things he said last night hurt more.

“I didn’t want him hurt, but...I don’t think I can fix that mess.” I’m not even sure it’d be worth the effort after last night.

There was that possibility that maybe we could have been more back then. More of what, I’m still not sure. We were both so stubborn and focused on our own wants that we were never really there for each other. Not completely. We filled a need the other had, but the aftermath was often disjointed and messy. And maybe that means whatever broke between us would have reared its ugly head eventually, even if I had managed to be open with him from the start. To explain the nightmare of my past and all the twisted turns that made me who I am. Even if I’d gone to New York with him. And then where would I have been? Stuck in a state far from my home and everyone I call family.

And I wouldn’t have Peeta.

It takes me awhile to verbalize it, and I’m thankful that Haymitch has never been a chatty person.

“I’ve already screwed it up beyond repair. I think...I think I just need to let him go.” Haymitch grunts and I nudge him with my elbow. “Spit it out, Old Man.”

“I had some really creative ideas on the drive here and now they’re going to waste.” I laugh and Haymitch stares at me.

“Save them for Prim. She might still need them.”

Haymitch narrows his eyes then curses. Grumbles and mutters about her being devious and him always being the last one to know this shit with her and I hide my smile in my coat collar. “You gonna at least tell me who it is?”

I shake my head and try not to laugh at the disgruntled look on his face. “No. This one’s gonna need a serious head start to even remotely have a fighting chance against you.”

Besides, I’ll see Ryen in Korea in a few days and will have a chance to pry discreetly. Or maybe I should let Peeta do that. If he’s talking to me by then.

“There’s more you wanted to talk about, isn’t there?” I ask and Haymitch fiddles with the cap to his water.

“I was on the phone with a rep from Nike this morning, Cressida Malik”

“Nike?” I ask. “What do they want?”

“She wanted to know if you’d be interested in joining their N7 ambassadors.”

For one second, my heart skips. A confusing mix of trepidation and excitement.

“They want me?” I ask and Haymitch nods.

“Well sweetheart, you’re an athlete of indigenous descent, going to the Olympics. You’re already all over news stands across the country. That’s a hell of a stage to stand on and set an example for other native kids, spread the word to those who aren’t.”

I shake my head and scowl at Haymitch. “You said not to bring race into it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why did you say that, anyways?”

He sighs and leans his head back again, stares up at the ceiling. “I guess I thought you already had enough to be dealing with, without the hopes of an entire race of multiple nations on your shoulders. One nation was enough, I thought. Especially with everything you went through to get here.” I’m not sure how to respond to that. “I admit, I mucked that one up pretty good. Should have let you talk about it.”

“Yeah,” I say with a snort and pluck at the zipper on my coat. “Maybe then I wouldn’t be dealing with boy problems right now.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Haymitch asks, a confused look on his face.

I quickly try to explain Gale’s accusations of forgetting who I am and where I came from because biathlon roots are so deeply entrenched in Norwegian military training. It’s part of why they typically dominate the sport. But it’s also why Gramps knew who to call to work with my father and I to give me the best start possible. My father taught me both the skills I use, but I’m not sure if I would have ever competed if it hadn’t been for Gramps and Peeta. Eirik’s connections essentially launched my career and I’m guessing that’s in the article. I can almost hear one of Gale’s lakeside speeches.

“That’s a load of crap,” Haymitch snarls when I finish.

Now it’s my turn to look away, because he’s right. Gale would’ve had a point to some degree. If it hadn’t been my father who first taught me to ski and to shoot. If my father hadn’t been my first coach and Haymitch my second. If Dad hadn’t passed down as much as he could. Language, stories, ceremonies for each stage of life, traditions. How to hunt. If he hadn’t taken us to tribal meetings and powwows. And I’m not sure that the article was the only thing that spurred Gale’s visit to my doorstep the other night.

Besides, wasn’t I thinking about how I wished I hadn’t followed Haymitch’s advice before Gale even showed up? His appearance just served to further muddy the waters of my thoughts and feelings. Haymitch sighs and I shift in my seat.

“There was a time I thought you two would work out. In a lot of ways, he reminded me of your father when we were younger. Other times I thought he was more like me, but I don’t know. Maybe I was just desperate to see some sign of you living again.”

“What you had a girl who didn’t live up to your expectations? She keep her entire past from you?”

“No.” Haymitch shakes his head and stares down at his interlocked fingers. “No, if anything it was the opposite. My girl married someone else. It was an arranged marriage, planned out by her parents. Very traditional. It might not be common anymore, but it’s not unheard of either. She was...she was close to her folks and they thought I was trouble. Weren’t wrong about that either. She didn’t want to go against them. I tried to respect that, for her sake, but we were both very young.”

“What happened?” I ask after a brief silence, a little enthralled. Haymitch has never really talked about his past. In that way, I’m more like him than either of my parents.

“Watching her happy with someone else became too much. Made me wonder if what she and I had was ever real. So I left the reservation and bounced around for awhile, picking up odd jobs here and there. Got in some trouble. Joined the Air Force for a bit, didn’t much like taking orders so I got in more trouble and left that soon as I could. Eventually made my way to New Mexico. Sae took me in, gave me a job busing tables. Washing dishes. Helped me get back on my feet.”

I stare at Haymitch and he glances over at me. I can’t believe he never told any of this to me. Then again, I never thought to ask.

“And you never went back? Never thought about marrying anyone else?” He shakes his head.

“Nah, I went back for a bit here and there. At least until my mother and brother died. After that...the place didn’t feel like home anymore. I spent a lot of years angry. Some of it made sense, some of it didn’t. Sometimes it's hard to tell what you’re angry at and why. Took me years to figure out that I was mostly angry at her and myself.”

I twist my hands together and think about that. About how desperate I was to get out of Wyoming after my parents died. Part of that desperation was because of Agnes and my deep rooted belief that whatever Peeta and I had was already dead. But now I wonder if part of it was running from my parents’ death too. The conviction that without them, my home was gone. I spent years after emotionally wandering around, searching for home in places that almost fit but never perfectly. Just like Haymitch did.

“I still had other places I could go. Your dad and I were neighbors as kids. He was...he was the best friend I ever knew and at one point, we started saying we were cousins. He left the reservation long before I did, but he and your mother never would’ve turned away a friend or family, no matter how long it’d been since I’d seen him. They always welcomed me into their home when I stopped by. And I had Sae in New Mexico. Didn’t find anyone else I wanted to share my life with and then...then I found myself with two girls who needed me and it stopped mattering.”

In a way it makes sense, what Haymitch is saying about them being alike. Gale grew up on a reservation, his entire family picking up and leaving when he was fourteen, although it was for his parents to find new jobs when theirs disappeared, better health care when his father’s health deteriorated -- and never returning. It still wasn’t easy for them. Gale had to take on multiple jobs to help support his family, to fill the role his father could not. In many respects, he was acting like a parent to his brothers and sister long before his father passed. The way I did with Prim after our parents died. But Haymitch left all on his own.

“It was right around the same time I left that your father announced that he was getting married. Sage and his father had left long before me. Years before, looking for jobs. They found them at Skadi. The place was brand new at the time. Started as trail guides, then as shooting instructors when Eirik found out how good they were. Your grandfather died and Sage stuck around anyways. He used to say…” Haymitch trails off and stares off across the concourse but I know what he was about to say.

“These mountains and woods plant roots in your spirit and never let go. No matter how far away you travel.” Haymitch nods and manages to keep going.

“Then the skiing lessons. Sage would send money back to his aunt and stop in every now and then. But...did they ever tell you how they met? Your parents?”

“Yes,” I say, tucking my feet up on the chair so I can hug my knees. And even though Haymitch probably knows the story better than me, I’m the one who tells it. When she was seventeen, my mother had gone to Skadi with a pair of close friends -- twin girls -- who were big into skiing, and their family. My mother had never been before. My father used to say that she was the most beautiful woman he’d seen on the slopes. She insisted she looked like a newborn giraffe on her skis.

“I was too stubborn to listen to him,” she used to whisper so he couldn’t contradict her. “I didn’t want to look like a fool in front of him. He was so handsome and charming. So patient and sweet. I ended up looking like a fool anyways.”

I tend to believe my mother’s version of the story because at one point, my father tried to keep her from falling and somehow wound up with a cut on his lip. At the time, my mother was planning to study to become a nurse. She’d taken several first aid courses already as part of her training for her summer job as a lifeguard and took care of my dad on the spot.

By the end of her visit, she was a fairly decent skier, my father’s cut had mostly healed, and they were in love. She used to say that she tried to stay away, but my father had worked his way into her blood and she couldn’t filter him out. Didn’t want to.

“She left her life in Michigan for him,” I say after sharing my rendition with Haymitch.

“He gave up his life too, in a way,” Haymitch explains. “Things back then...even today to some degree...well I guess a lot of people believed your father would eventually go back home and marry a girl within the tribe since he still had family there.”

This part’s new and my spine straightens a little as I stare at Haymitch and he talks to the carpet.

“When they got married, there were some who were angry with him. Others who didn’t care. Many who reserved judgment until they saw how in love your parents were. Lillian made it impossible for anyone to hate her. But it was never easy for your parents, balancing two worlds in one home. Especially when they were physically separated from the center of one of those worlds.”

When it was the world that’s in danger of not being handed down to the next generation. He doesn’t need to say it for me to understand.

“So you wanted me to be with Gale?”

“I wanted you to find contentment. Not be the outsider who cut yourself off from your family or the world and everything you loved when life didn’t work out the way you expected it, like I did. At first, I thought the best way to help you was to get you back on the skis. That helped, but any sudden moves with you seemed like a mistake.

“But then you met Gale, and I thought I saw changes. Little things here and there. It looked like you’d found a friend. You started going out for something other than work or training or competing or because it was for Prim. Then it seemed like he was your boyfriend and I figured time was doing its job. Why rock the boat?

“Maybe I should have kept us in Taos, I don’t know. I never expected you to be the same as you were before the accident. No one goes through something like that unchanged. But...Some scars run deeper than others. Far deeper than anyone can see, and maybe I was wrong about what was going on with Gale. Then he left and I couldn’t bring myself to uproot either you or Prim again. But in the end, I always wanted you to feel like you had a choice.”

I nod and take another drink of water before tucking the bottle in my bag. Haymitch does the same with his and then sighs.

“Sage was always better...more astute at dealing with these kinds of things.”

“Which things?”

“All of it,” Haymitch says and flicks away nonexistent dirt from his pants. Haymitch’s words slice through me and tears stream down my cheeks. I miss my father so much, and even though I acknowledged it months ago, the pain is still there. But sometimes I forget that Haymitch loved him and lost him too.

“Come here,” he says and without thought, I am curled up on the worn airport seats with his arms around me and my silent tears soaking through his shirt. I say something that sounds like his name and Haymitch shushes me. “It’ll be okay, Sweetheart. You have no idea how proud he always was of you. I know I was a poor substitute.”

I shake my head and he rubs one hand up and down my arm. “They should’ve sent us with you to start with.”

“Yeah, well. Even your parents made mistakes,” Haymitch says and after that, we’re quiet until they announce the boarding of our flight.

The flight almost leaves me too much time to think. I consider reading the cursed article, but since my change was last minute, Haymitch and I aren’t seated together. I’m jammed up in between two strangers. I feel weird reading something about myself -- with my picture on the cover to boot -- in public, so I decide to save it for the privacy of my hotel room.

I get lost in thoughts and it takes the tires squealing on a Canadian runway to pull me out of them. As soon as we’re able, I turn my phone back on, my stomach sinking as I see a one word response to my message.

_Why?_

I’m not sure how to answer that, so I don’t at first. I move in a daze to collect my luggage, let Prim know we’ve arrived, and follow Haymitch through the motions of checking into our rooms. I throw my things on the bed, splash some cold water on my face, and finally call Peeta.

The phone rings once, twice and I snarl, “You promised.”  As the third ring starts, “Answer the phone.”

The words are no sooner out of my mouth than he picks up. My breath catches in my throat and I listen to his shuddering exhale.

“Katniss...I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t...shouldn’t have done that.”

I’m too stunned to answer at first and Peeta takes a deep breath on the other end. This isn’t how I expected this conversation to go at all. He’s thrown me by apologizing first and all my carefully planned speeches disintegrate with his contrition.

“I’m sorry too,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“A lot of things. I didn’t know he’d be there, and...I didn’t have enough time to figure out what that meant before you were there too,” I say.

“I know,” he says gently. “I know that. I guess I lost my head a little because I thought...”

“You thought what?”

“Nothing now,” he says.

“I don’t know a thing about your ex girlfriends,” I point out.

“There’s not much to tell. I can give you the whole rundown of every time I failed or thought maybe I’d found someone only to hang on for too long until it became painfully clear that we weren't what the other wanted or needed. Every time I was with someone because one of us or both of us were trying to fill a hole or a temporary need. How I always fucked it up and could never understand why.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t need the play by play,” I insist. I’m not sure I can handle having the details paraded in front of me right now. But I think I can understand how blindsided he was by Gale’s appearance. I lost it over a picture of Peeta with one of his teammates, after all. What would I have done if I’d gone to surprise him and met with a flesh and blood ex-girlfriend of his on the doorstep?

And whether I like it or not, what happened between Gale and I is Peeta’s business now. Gale made it so. “When I said he left on a deployment and I haven’t heard from him since...he left two and half years ago.”

There’s a long pause as I wait for Peeta to digest that. To do the math. To calculate the space between the last time I saw Gale and the first time I saw Peeta again at Skadi, and know that Gale leaving did not trigger my slump. If anything, it plunged me back into a mindset of cold perfection that yes, got me into the Olympics...but at what price? What did I sacrifice for that?

Warmth. Joy. Hope.

“Two and a — Christ,” Peeta mutters and I shrink in on myself. And then he surprises me. “What kind of… Seriously, Katniss? That long with no word and he expects you to just be waiting for him with a smile? I mean, I realize I don’t have much room to judge here on length of time with no communication but do they not have mailboxes where he went? He couldn’t even send you a postcard in all that time?”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up as I remember what I said to Peeta at Skadi about him not even sending a postcard when my parents died. And it’s so bizarre, having Peeta angry at Gale for the way he left. But it’s also strangely comforting to have him angry on my behalf again.

“I don’t know. Maybe. We fought before he left. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, and when he showed up... I thought that since you and I were able to become friends again after everything, that maybe I could fix things with Gale too. But anyways, it doesn’t really matter anymore.”

“No, I guess not,” he says and I wish I could see his face right now. His eyes. Maybe then I would know what he’s really thinking. “So then what brings you to Canada?”

“I happened to have tickets.”

“Must’ve been expensive changing everything last minute.”

“Not really. I bought these airline tickets weeks ago,” I tell him.

“So it would’ve cost you even more to not come here.”

“Probably,” I say, not quite sure why it matters.

He takes another deep breath and I hold mine. “Katniss, I’m glad you called but I’ve um, got practice runs tomorrow and it’s been a crazy couple of days, so I’m gonna get something for dinner and then probably turn in.”

“Okay. Did you want some company?”

“Maybe not tonight,” he says, his voice tight. “I think I need to focus on these couple of races, you know? Try not to jeopardize my spot in Korea.”

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I won’t be. Finnick, Darius, and Johanna are here, so I’ll be with them and some of the team.”

“Oh,” I say and grab the nearest blanket to wrap it around me. “Of course. Okay. Have a good time.”

“You too,” he says and then he’s gone. There’s no invitation to join them this time.

I drop the phone and curl up on my bed to think, order dinner and run back over everything we said the other night. Searching for clues. Then I remember that Peeta almost always apologizes first. I should have known it’d be the first thing out of his mouth. But that doesn’t explain why he pulled away in the end.

I call Prim and ask her to tell me about the dog she and Ryen adopted to distract me from my thoughts of Peeta. It isn’t long before she has me laughing.

In the morning, I’m no closer to an answer on how to reach Peeta. I can’t even get in to watch his practice runs because he didn’t know until yesterday that I’d be here, so I’m not listed on the family and friends. Instead, I pace my room like a caged animal until Haymitch shows up and drags me out for some training.

“You never answered me about Nike,” he says as the fifth target turns over, indicating a perfect shooting round. I stare at the all white target and listen to the wind through the trees. He quickly gives me a rundown of what it would involve.

“Can I have a day to think about it?”

“Sure. They won’t be going anywhere. Only difference it makes is whether or not they can get something together in time for the Olympics.” I glance back over my shoulder at him and he shrugs. “It’d be last minute, but I’ve seen Cressida’s work. I think even you will be impressed.”

Haymitch resets the targets and squeezes my shoulder as he moves to stand behind me again. I take a deep breath and focus on my shots. Not on my still silent phone in my pocket. Then we ski for a bit, and I ignore the slowly blooming ache in my chest as the day disappears with no word from Peeta.

I know I need to let him focus on his races, but it’s killing me not knowing how he’s doing. If he’s tearing up the course and realizing that I am just a problem. A thing in his way rather than a help. That he’d be better off without me.

Shortly before dinner, Haymitch calls it quits. Since we’ll spend tomorrow in the stands, I’ll have a full day off followed by a day of travel to Korea. I’m running out of time to reach Peeta and fix this and even though I know it’s arbitrary, I feel like I need to reach some sort of understanding between us before that torch is lit and the games begin.

We shower, eat, and head back to the hotel. When we get there, we reach Haymitch’s room first and I follow him inside. “There something you wanted to talk about?”

“I want a drink,” I say as I raid his minibar. “And I don't want the bill.”

Haymitch sighs and motions for me to toss him the mini bottle of whiskey. He takes a drink and grimaces. Takes another. I sit on the back of the armchair in his room and he flops back on the couch. I pass the bottle back and forth between my hands.

“Well, Sweetheart. I can see smoke coming outta your ears and since you’re not yelling at me, I’m guessing you’re stuck on something.”

I am. There’s a lot that I’m stuck on, but maybe if I take this one piece at a time, it won’t be insurmountable.

“Haymitch...do you think maybe I should just...leave him alone?”

“That depends. Why are we here, Sweetheart?”

“I told you. I want to fix things with him but…”

“But what? Spit it out.”

“I don’t know if I deserve it.”

His gray eyes almost glitter in the faint lamplight as he stares at me, bottle held to his mouth but not tipped up enough for him to drink. He lowers it and sets it aside.

“You know what you’re good at? Focusing on what’s right in front of you. The immediate goal. The target at the edge of the range. The skier in front of you that you’re gonna pass. Not that it’s a bad thing. It’s served you pretty well. But this isn’t just about you. Maybe what you need to do before you can answer that question is ask what you want beyond the finish line.”

“You don’t have an answer.”

“Damn right I don’t. I’d like to tear him apart for walking off instead of dealing with it. I’d like to tear you apart for not running after him right away. It’s kinda ironic, if you think about it. You two did the same thing as when you were fifteen, only reversed the roles. The difference this time is neither of you is physically injured, and you don’t have a bunch of adults losing their heads and frantically responding to shit faster than they can process what happened and making mistakes that just made things worse for you both. This one's all on you two. So how’re you gonna fix it?”

“Guess I could go door to door to figure out which room is his.”

Haymitch looks askance at me and I choke down some more alcohol. We both know I won’t. Too worried about the embarrassment that would cause me. Or that I might destroy his performance tomorrow, too cowardly to admit that maybe he was right a few days ago and we missed all our shots. Have no loose rounds left.

We drink in relative silence. Eventually my phone chimes and I sit up to grab at it, heart sinking as I read the message from Peeta.

_Practice runs not so good._

Haymitch reads it over my shoulder and gives me a nudge. “Go. Talk to him. Work it out now before it gets worse.” I waver as I stand and Haymitch swipes my half drunk bottle off the table so I can’t take it with me. I almost wish I could get drunk instead of dealing with it, but that won’t solve a thing.

In the hallway, I answer Peeta.

**_Can I come over so we can talk?_ **

_I don’t think that’s a good idea_

_We’ve both got a lot to deal with right now_

_Still not sure exactly why you came, but I think I need to focus here, and you on Korea._

**_Just how bad were your practice runs?_ **

**_Maybe I can help. You helped me with my slump_ **

I fumble with my key and my door, searching for the words to convince him to let me in. To give me another chance. But like I told Haymitch, I’m not sure I deserve it. Maybe Peeta is better off moving on to someone else. Maybe he was right about how he was just fine for ten years without me. I type out my answer and send it anyways.

**_I came here to be here for you_ **

Like we promised. But his words come through at almost the same time.

_I don’t think you can help._

There’s a space of several heartbeats before he responds to my words. I can’t breathe while I watch the dots as he types and I search for a response to what he said. Maybe if I call. Maybe if I just hear his voice, I can reach him. But then the rapid string of texts that roll in next sink my hopes.

_Just let me finish this set of races._

_Then I can go back to being your friend_

I’m taken aback by his words. They sting and I’m thinking up a hundred nasty retorts about how this not the way to act like a friend, but the thing is...I’m not sure I know how a real friend would act. I barely get along with my team. Peeta’s the only real friend I’ve known outside of Prim. I’m not sure anymore that Gale counts.

_We were always friends first, right?_

I must’ve hurt Peeta more than I thought by asking him to not tell anyone about us. I revisit the look on his face when he realized I hadn’t told him about seeing his mother. Pain, betrayal. A friend wouldn’t do that, would they? Then I think of the way he pulled away from me when I tried to take care of his leg. For some reason, those two expressions stand out more than some of the others and I wonder if his distance now has more to do with my omission and the things his mother did to him than Gale’s reappearance in my life. I’m so distracted that I miss several more texts and have to catch up.

_It may take me some time though_

_So when’s your flight to Korea?_

I shake my head, wondering what that nonsense is about for now and focus on the question. Because if he’s asking when my flight is, then maybe he’s giving me the chance to at least talk to him about everything else.

**_Wednesday afternoon_ **

_Tomorrow night, then? After the slalom._

I agree to wait because I can’t do anymore than that if he won’t let me or tell me what’s going on in his head, but I rage into my pillow, cursing everything from his mother to Gale to the stupid Olympics and their press coverage and finally my own stupidity in thinking I could so easily make everything right again just by getting on a plane. Eventually, my tears dry on my cheeks, leaving me spent and exhausted.

I jolt off the bed somewhere in the middle of the night and search through my bag, yanking out the magazine and staring at the cover. The answers are here, I realize. Maybe he was right. Maybe we were just surviving the season until this damn thing made the rest of the world explode around us. I sit on the bed and set it in my lap, slowly flip through the pages until I find what I’m looking for. And then I read the words of someone else looking in on us as though the story is a bit of inspiration or a curiosity rather than my life. It starts with the portrait of the four of us with Gramps, a picture of the perfect Olympic legacy family, but I know the truth, and so now does the rest of the world.

 

* * *

 

 **_The Midas Touch_ **

****_  
_ **_Graham Mellark, 35 - Nordic combined_ ** ****_  
_ **_Ryen Mellark, 28 - Freestyle skiing_ ** ****_  
_ **_Katniss Everdeen, 25 - Biathlon_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Peeta Mellark, 25 - Paralympic Snowboarding_ **

**_  
_ **

_The tale of King Midas is one of triumph as well as tragedy, and their effects on generations of family, and so is this story. The popular version of the tale starts with a gift, the ability to turn whatever one touches to gold. This version starts not with a kingdom built on an abundance of gold, but on Olympic gold. For our setting, Skadi, a timber and stone ski resort located near Jackson, Wyoming._

_Ask one of the many employees of Skadi what the place means to them and they answer almost without thinking -- Family. “This place roots in your blood and is impossible to get out. No matter how far away you go.” —_

 

The second paragraph wrecks me. My father’s words, and I don’t have to wonder who said it to Effie for it to find its way into this article. Haymitch. It takes me a moment to keep reading.

 

_— It’s a sentiment almost universally shared among the families at the heart of the resort, from the year round employees to repeat guests, all the way to the family that owns Skadi._

_While the area is no stranger to Olympic caliber athletes, as many internationally renowned skiers and snowboarders have been known to stop in for a visit or a training session, you don’t need to check the guest roster to find an Olympian or two. All it takes is a look around at the host families._

_Eirik Tjaland of Norway first appeared in the Olympics in 1956. Originally slated as an alternate, he was given the chance to compete when another athlete on Norway’s team was injured days before the opening ceremony. While Tjaland would not medal then, he turned the opportunity into the chance of a lifetime, quickly emerging as Norway’s leading athlete in the nordic combined event. He would go on to win silver in 1960 and gold in the 1964 games held at Innsbruck, Austria. But all fantastic gifts come with a taste of tragedy as well._

_After his gold medal win, Tjaland suffered a streak of bad luck in his personal life. His fifteen year long marriage to Elise Tjaland became strained following a miscarriage and subsequent health issues. Elise Tjaland succumbed to cancer in 1967. Looking for a chance to start over, Tjaland began selling everything he could, including his silver medal, to raise funds. In 1968, he emigrated to America with his only child, Agnes Tjaland.—_

 

I read that part a few times to let it sink in. Gramps never spoke of his silver medal win. Or that he sold it. For that matter, I struggle to recall him ever talking about his wife when he told stories about his life back in Norway. There may have been a story about Christmas cookies or something, but I can’t remember anything specific. I wonder if these are the details Peeta referred to when he said it didn’t make sense for the writers to know about unless they had spoken to his mother. I shake it off and keep reading.

 

_— After a handful of years wandering the country, father and daughter settled in Wyoming and invested in a dozen run down cabins on a relatively untouched portion of the Grand Tetons. Here, Midas would build his kingdom. Under Tjaland’s management, Skadi would rapidly grow into a luxury escape for casual skiers but also a training ground for his daughter._

_Avid ski fans may remember Agnes Tjaland’s performances in the downhill and slalom in 1977, a World Championship caliber performance. Triumph seemed inevitable for Agnes before an injury in 1978 kept her out of the 1980 Lake Placid Winter Games. While recovering from her injury, she married Skadi’s head chef, Bram Mellark. Shortly thereafter, following the birth of her first son, Graham, Agnes made a few unsuccessful attempts to return to the world of competitive skiing, but before she could compete in a single event, her injury flared up again. Not wanting to give up, she cycled through several coaches who were all let go due to personal conflicts._

_Eventually Agnes returned to Skadi to assist her father in running the resort and to raise her child with her husband. While Agnes did not compete in the Olympics, the legacy her father began would not end with her, but rather be continued in the next generation._

_Graham Mellark showed an aptitude for skiing at an early age and began training under the watchful eyes of both mother and grandfather, first in cross country and later adding the ski jumps that would propel him to two world titles in the nordic combined, as well as two bronze medals in Turin in 2006, and a gold medal performance in Vancouver in 2010. Although Graham has since been unable to repeat his Olympic gold performance, finishing sixth in Sochi, he has thus far had a distinguished career and done well in almost all of his regular seasons, rarely finishing below tenth. He hopes to return to the Olympic podium in the upcoming Games in Pyeongchang, his fifth and possibly final Olympic appearance._

_“I’m in the best shape of my life, with my beautiful wife and daughters rooting for me. Even if there’s no more gold in my future, being in Korea with my entire family is the best way I can imagine closing out my Olympic career,” says the thirty-five year old father of four girls, referring to the rumors that he will likely retire before Beijing in 2022._

_When asked what he’ll do after, Mellark talks about perhaps coaching the next generation of golden athletes. His two oldest daughters have both expressed interest in competitive skiing. The eldest, Ariel Mellark, has already finished a handful of local downhill races. A possible four generation legacy? Only time will tell if the golden touch is hereditary._

_Ryen Mellark, Agnes’ second son, would also show a skill for the sport at an early age, this time in the same events as his mother -- alpine skiing -- and as such, Agnes would be his first coach and remain so for many years. Known for both his speed and flash in the skiing world, the second Mellark son quickly accumulated a number of titles and medals at a young age, including a silver and a bronze at Vancouver, making him one of the more decorated American skiers of our time._

_Although Mellark was competing at the highest levels of alpine skiing, at the age of twenty-one, he switched to competing in freestyle ski. “I wanted to try as many ways of flying down a mountain as I could. I might be a bit of an adrenaline junkie,” he explains his unorthodox move between disciplines. When asked if he’ll be giving cross country or nordic a try, Mellark laughs and shakes his head. “Freestyle ski just turned out to be a better fit than alpine. I’d like to see how long I can ride that train. Maybe I’ll switch back later, who knows?”_

_The risky switch paid off. Currently he holds several top three season finishes in freestyle ski, across multiple events. At the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, he brought home a second silver medal, this time in the moguls. While he has plenty of silver and bronze, the one precious metal he still lacks in his Olympic tale is a touch of gold. Pyeongchang will be his fourth Olympic appearance overall and his second as a freestyle skier. “I’m not done yet. Gold has always been the goal,” he says. Having one of his best seasons yet, trading back and forth for overall first place in the slopestyle event with Canada’s Jason Marvel, Ryen Mellark just might reach that elusive goal this year._

_While Luck seems to have turned back in the family’s favor with the two oldest Mellarks, you need only look a little further down the line of succession to the youngest of Eirik Tjaland’s grandsons, Peeta Mellark, and Peeta’s longtime friend, Katniss Everdeen, an athlete with a distinguished career all her own, to find a few more chapters of tragedy and overcoming odds._

_Biathlon fans will already know Everdeen by several of her more colorful monikers -- the Girl on Fire, Biathlon Machine -- but at Skadi, she’s known as Hummingbird, a nickname bestowed on her by her father. As the daughter of one of the year round employees, Everdeen resided on the grounds at Skadi with her parents -- Sage and Lillian — and her younger sister Primrose. Everdeen’s father, a registered member of the Northern Arapaho Nation, worked at the resort for years as a ski instructor, shooting instructor, and trail guide. Everdeen’s mother as an onsite EMT and the head of the area’s ski patrol._

_Katniss spent countless childhood hours at her father’s side, helping teach lessons and growing into an accomplished skier and a skilled markswoman -- with both a rifle and a bow. Recognizing her athletic potential at an early age, Tjaland sponsored her first cross country ski races and eventually helped launch her career in competitive biathlon. The roots of biathlon are planted deeply in Norwegian history, which made Tjaland’s ancestry and ties to his birth nation key in finding knowledgeable coaches to help school the elder Everdeen in coaching his own daughter._

_“She’s family. She always was,” Ryen Mellark states. “Gramps would’ve sponsored any kid living at Skadi who showed that kind of skill and passion to compete. It happened to be Katniss in this case.”_

_Peeta Mellark started his athletic career along a similar path as his older brother Ryen, but he would eventually develop a passion for boards rather than skis. By the age of fifteen, he had accumulated at least one top three finish in every discipline the junior levels of snowboarding offered. He excelled at slalom and the half pipe, where he was known for kicking up the difficulty level by inverting his spins in competition. Whispers of Vancouver gold began accumulating thick on the snow._

_Athletic promise was not the only thing Everdeen and Mellark developed during their younger years at Skadi. “They were rarely ever far apart when they were both here,” says Tjaland of his youngest grandson and Everdeen. “If you found one, the other was almost certain to be close by. They were adamant about traveling to support one another at competitions.” Several of Sakdi’s employees also remarked on the close nature of their friendship, telling one story after another and citing a ritual the pair engaged in prior to every race or competition. The pair would share a set of earbuds and dance._

_Everdeen and Mellark seemed poised to follow their family to athletic success, but a hiking accident in June of 2007, when they were just fifteen years old, would put those dreams of gold on pause._

_A rockslide and a fall off a forty foot cliff left the pair injured and stranded in a difficult to reach valley on the grounds of the resort — Everdeen with a broken leg, two cracked ribs, and a concussion. Mellark suffered a concussion, a broken arm, broken ribs, and multiple breaks to both legs, including a compound fracture of the right femur that caused significant damage to the surrounding blood vessels and nerves. While Katniss’ quick thinking and first aid skills kept Peeta alive long enough for help to arrive, doctors would later have to amputate his right leg above the knee._

_This alone would seem enough, but tragedy was not yet done with this pair of friends. Four days after their accident, with Peeta still in the hospital and Katniss bedridden with her injuries, a drunk driver hit Sage and Lillian Everdeen’s truck. The couple perished before authorities could reach the scene, orphaning Katniss and eleven year old Primrose._

_As such tragedies often do, this one affected the family on a deep level. In the following days, a hazy and hasty sequence of events unfolded that much of the family is still reluctant to discuss. However, the end result was that Katniss and Peeta’s paths would diverge for ten years and the rest of the family would be left scattered._

_The sisters found themselves living with relatives on a farm in Michigan. Agnes and Bram Mellark divorced in early 2009, with full custody of Peeta granted to Bram Mellark and no visitation rights to Agnes. While Bram and Peeta would remain at Skadi, Agnes would move to Providence, Rhode Island to take a job as a sports writer for a local online newspaper. Eventually she would be hired as a sports correspondent for the local NBC affiliate as well. Following their parents’ split, the two older boys, already both adults, sought new coaches outside of the family. Graham and his wife, Savannah, were already settled in Salt Lake City, Utah with two daughters. Ryen and Bram would eventually make their homes there as well._

_It would take two years after the accident, one change of guardianship, and a move to Taos, New Mexico to live under the care of her father’s childhood friend, Haymitch Abernathy, before Everdeen returned to competitive biathlon. She rose quickly through the ranks of juniors to cup to world cup and finally to a position on Team USA._

_Peeta would spend the next few years after his amputation in physical therapy and out of the limelight, adjusting to both life and snowboarding with a prosthetic leg. He filled the ten years with any number of projects -- earning a degree from San Diego State University, starting his own business crafting custom snowboards and skis, stepping up to run Skadi alongside his grandfather, as well as working with Teton Adaptive Sports (TAS) to teach adaptive snowboarding (See page 90 for more). Competition, however, would remain absent from his life until a visit from an old friend last March re-ignited the drive in him._

_“She saved my life ten years ago and then when she came back, she inspired me to return to a part of my life I hadn’t realized I was missing,” Peeta says. “It’s been a long road for both of us but we started it together and to have her there for me, to have the chance to be there for her...that means everything.”_

_If you’ve been paying attention to either of their seasons, then you know this is not just another year. Everdeen showed up to her first competition of the 2017/2018 season sporting a brand new pair of skis, printed with an intricate pattern of hummingbirds in flight. It would seem that the Girl on Fire has forsaken her flames for a pair of wings. And not just any wings._

_“Peeta made them for me,” Katniss states with a smile, a rare expression for those familiar with her. “First time I used them, I thought it was more like flying than skiing.”_

_And what a flight it’s been between her Twitter famous gelato hunts with the rest of the US women’s biathlon team, and a string of top tier finishes to include one stunning mass start during which Everdeen stopped to assist her injured teammate, Wiress Blanchard, and still brought in a third place finish. Her actions during that race captured the hearts of biathlon fans across international lines and the attention of almost every sports station and writer. Thus far, she’s achieved the highest ranking of any American from this or previous seasons. Should Katniss Everdeen bring home a medal from Pyeongchang, she would be the first American athlete to win an Olympic medal of any color in the winter biathlon. But wherever she finishes in her events in Korea, the biathlon community has pegged her as one to watch._

_Peeta hasn’t taken the paradnowboarding world by storm just yet but keep in mind he started training for this less than a year ago. What he has accomplished in that time is quite impressive. He has put in a list of consistent top half of the field finishes, earned a spot on the US Paralympic team, and stolen hearts across the globe with his sense of humor and his friendly demeanor. For an example of his personality one need only take a look at his own custom board, with his home mountain range painted on the underside, always against the snow he’s grinding on, and a pair of words next to his boots. “Real” next to the left foot, and “Not Real” next to the right._

_“So I don’t forget which foot goes where,” he explains. “And I’ve always got home with me, wherever I go.”_

_Perhaps his season so far hasn’t had the flash of those of the rest of his family, but a quick perusal of YouTube videos featuring his youthful competitions leading up to the accident show a fierce and talented athlete. Give him some time to settle back into the competition world and snowboarding fans agree -- it’s sure to be incredible, if not in Korea, then certainly in Beijing._

_As for King Midas, he was left with a cold and lonely kingdom of gold, wishing for the reversal of his gifts. Perhaps Eirik Tjaland will have a more satisfying legacy to share. Graham, Ryen, Peeta, and Katniss have inherited a different kind of kingdom. One of snow, Olympic gold, and family._

_For more on the Tjaland-Mellark-Everdeen family, tune into the NBC Olympic broadcast on Feb 10th._

* * *

 

It’s not nearly as bad as I was expecting. And that’s almost worse. It makes us sound like a family struck by tragedy and somehow rising out of the ashes, albeit a lot longer for some of us. All this mess from just this article?

Since I’ve started myself down this path, I may as well finish it. There’s a broadcast schedule for all of our events and URL for the _Sports Illustrated_ online Olympic preview as well as one for NBC, both of which I should look at later. For now, I turn my focus to the pictures printed in front of me.

They span decades, a miniature version of The Wall. Everything from Eirik in 1964 with Agnes in his arms and a gold medal around his neck to Gramps playing chess with Haymitch at Skadi. Agnes on a downhill course. A scattered dozen or so pictures of the three Mellark boys and I through the years. My parents’ wedding picture. Several of the ones Prim sent with me to Skadi. Dad with his bow and a handful of summer camp students. Mom in her bright red ski patrol jacket, rosy cheeked with windswept hair.

Peppered in with the past are ones of the years in between. The three boys in Vancouver, celebrating Graham’s gold. Ryen with his head thrown back in laughter and his fist in the air, still gripping a ski pole. In a suit and tie on the set of some interview show with a silver and bronze around his neck and a brunette in a short dress on his arm. Peeta in San Diego, smiling with palm trees at his back, one hand in the pocket of his shorts and a skateboard in the other. In a cap and gown with Gramps and Johanna on either side of him. With his friends after a day spent on the slopes. Me with Haymitch and Prim in New Mexico. Setting up before a race.

There are also more recent ones. Graham and Savannah and the girls at Skadi during the solar eclipse. New Zealand -- one of the three of us, another of just Peeta and I, holding hands and smiling at the camera. Graham mid-jump, Ryen flipped upside down with his skis in a cross. Me with the biathlon team, on the search for gelato. On a range with my face focused and intense. Peeta on a race course, another with Beetee and the others.

It’s only two pages of crammed together pictures but it brings up so many memories. So many moments and a thousand different feelings. I fixate on a picture of Peeta and I when we were maybe fourteen. We’d just gotten down the mountain from a few runs on the slopes and he sat in the snow. I kneeled behind him and leaned on his back, arms draped over his shoulders. In the picture, he’s grinning and my face is screwed up into a ridiculous expression of fun and joy.

No wonder Gale didn’t recognize me. He never once saw me happy when I was on my skis. I’m not sure I ever was during the time I knew him. Not fully. I was still running, holding onto shreds of the past and never pausing long enough to look at them for a way to piece them back together. But here they are, all laid out in front of me now. It hurts and heals all at once. For the rest of the night, I can’t stop looking at them, searching for what I need.

What do I want after the finish line?

It’s not something I’ve allowed myself to really think about. Too focused on the goal right in front of me, just as Haymitch said. Even Peeta talked about it, how he -- how we’ve both -- been focused on getting through this season and not what happens afterwards. I can easily answer part of it and send my answer to Haymitch.

_Tell Nike I’m in._

**Good. I’ll set it up**

**Cupcake?**

_Working on it_

I slip into half sleep, and in my hazy dreams, I relive that moment when I heard Peeta’s voice outside a hotel door and knew he was there for me. His shouting in an airport security line when he shared my triumph and celebrated with me despite the distance between us. The sight of him on a screen, from half a world away, and the joy of knowing that mine was the first face he saw upon waking. The first face he _wanted_ to see upon waking. The desire to have that again, without the screen and the miles between us. His gentle understanding through one disappointment after another. The feel of his thumbs wiping my tears and his arms around me in the darkness. So steady and strong. Chasing away the dreams that frighten me, bringing the ones that thrill back to the light. Turning the memories that still sometimes hurt into something new and beautiful. His blind defense of me even when I had hurt him. The sound of his laughter and the touch of his lips on mine. The dream of the meadow slips in there too, mingled with memories of the past year. It runs together like a poorly cut film but the one thing that remains the same is an undeniable feeling of happiness.

In the morning, I wake alone, with drool making a sticky mess of my face and my pillow, the magazine pushed off the bed, a dull headache from the alcohol and dehydration, and my alarm on my phone reminding me that today could be the end of it all. The last casualty of our fall off that cliff.

Instead of losing myself in fatalistic thinking, I force myself out of bed and into the shower. I cling to the last remnants of happiness I felt while I dreamt and the hope that what we have isn’t gone. Not yet. Not completely. If it can be reborn after ten years apart and his mother’s venom and somehow grow into something beyond my feeble ability with words, then it can survive this too. I’m careful to dry my hair all the way and braid it before getting dressed in warm clothes. Drink a few glasses of water. Haymitch knocks on my door and we’re mostly silent through breakfast.

When we reach the venue, I make one last attempt and find myself rebuffed from the back areas again. As I turn away to head towards the stands, I spot a familiar face watching me.

Johanna pops her gum and steps in front of me. “You’ve got some brass balls showing up here.”

I blink and search for words. The only thing that comes out is a stammering introduction that leads to a stiff handshake between Johanna and Haymitch.

She smiles at me and it does nothing to comfort. “Stay away from him, alright? I don’t much like the idea of testing my Judo skills in snow pants, but I’ll do it with a smile on my face if you fuck up his concentration anymore than it already is.”

“Did he ask you to say that?” I snap and she laughs coldly.

“Wow, you are brainless, aren’t you?”

She doesn’t explain, but leaves me standing there, shows a pass through the checkpoint and smirks back at me over her shoulder before heading into the prep areas. Where I can’t go because Peeta decided he didn’t want me there this time.

Haymitch whistles and places a hand on my shoulder to steer me towards the stand. A thousand thoughts scream through my brain and I follow his lead.

“Haymitch, you don’t think…”

“No, I don’t. And you shouldn’t either because it’s not gonna do any good unless you hear it straight from his mouth. Let’s go find a decent seat.”

We settle in the stands and I’m thrown back to New Zealand as we watch the women and I can’t sit still. I turn away Haymitch’s offers of the thermos, even when he assures me that it’s nonalcoholic. Finally, I spot Finnick and Johanna and one more in a hooded parka that must be Darius file into the stands. They sit far away from us, although at one point, Finnick turns around and stares straight up at me. Johanna smacks him and he whips back around. Haymitch laughs a little.

“She’s got spirit,” Haymitch says and I shudder.

“I think she scares me a little.”

I sit up straighter when they announce Peeta’s name and focus in on the screen. I try to reach out to him through my thoughts, so he knows that I’m here and rooting for him. Johanna’s comments about his concentration have me worried and I block out everything but Peeta on the screen. Out the gate and down the hill. Around four turns, five turns, and then something happens.

His arms flail and his board slides out of control and Peeta hits the snow hard. Someone makes an awful gasping noise and Haymitch urges me to breathe as Peeta gets back up to finish the course. It takes him awhile to get back up to speed.

“Poor kid’s not having a good week,” someone behind me says. I pry my hands off my mouth and turn around slowly to face the elderly man dressed in Canadian colors, jotting down notes in a spiral bound book.

“How so?” I ask, worried and curious and unable to stop the question.

“Well, that’s the same turn that’s been giving him troubles the past two days. Didn’t manage a single practice run without at least one spill. Most of ‘em on that turn.” The man’s attention is pulled away then, as the racer he’s clearly here to support takes the gate while Peeta crosses the finish line.

His shoulders are set and tense. I can tell by the way he’s jerking the board to stop that he’s frustrated. At the end of the first round, his time puts him in seventeenth - last place for this one. When Haymitch offers the thermos again, I take a drink and ignore the burn of the bourbon he put in the cocoa.

Non-alcoholic my ass.

It’s torture waiting through the men’s LL2 division and then the women again. At one point during the women’s LL2, they announce that they are having technical difficulties with the timing device and to please have patience until repairs can be made.

Time passes. I stare unseeing at my phone, lost in a state of numb, waiting for a phone call that I fear will never come. The longer I sit here, the colder I get, the further I fall into that place where I no longer feel. It scares me and I fight it, thinking instead of my dream of the meadow. The laughing man and the dancing girl. The delicious feelings of happiness that suffuse my every pore when I have that dream and the certainty that it is somehow connected to Peeta.

I vaguely hear someone call my name, but it’s not Peeta’s voice. So I ignore it. Until Haymitch elbows me and I glare up at him, only to have my gaze directed to Finnick, sitting right in front of me and examining me like a specimen under glass.

“I’m here because my friend, who I’ve known a long time is hurting right now, and I’m at a loss as to how to help him. I’ve seen him space out before or disassociate for a bit, but usually I can talk to him about it. Then he’ll fill a sketchbook to overflowing, talk to one of the fancy shrinks his grandfather pushes him to see, do something that’s probably a little reckless, and work through it. But this...Nothing I’ve tried is working and I don’t exactly have time to drag him to a psychologist so he can spill his guts for half a fortune.”

“What do you want us to do about it?” Haymitch asks and Finnick’s mouth thins.

“Peeta’s back there still as stone, only mumbling answers to direct questions. And when he does talk, it’s a word, maybe two. Like he’s tuned everything out. Gone into some kind of survival mode. Last full sentence I heard him say was that maybe he shouldn’t embarrass himself anymore. He tried to say it as a joke, but I know Peeta’s jokes. This was...not that funny.” I grip my phone and drop my eyes.

No. Peeta can’t quit. Not now. My gut twists with guilt and pain. Tears sting at my eyes but I keep them at bay. Haymitch leans forward and opens his mouth, probably to tell Finnick off. I hold out my arm to stop him. Because I need to know what Finnick is going to say next. Where he’s taking this.

Finnick scrubs his face and glares up at me before he continues. “Did he tell you how we met?”

“The skateboard trick,” I say and Finnick nods.

“That’s right. Bet he only told you the cute and funny shit though, didn’t he?” I stare at him and wait. Nod my head a little when he doesn’t continue. “Yeah, he wouldn’t air the dirty laundry with you. Not without our permission. It’s not his style to tell someone else’s tragic backstory, is it?”

Not even mine. The words aren’t spoken, but I see them in the speculative gleam in Finnick’s eyes. The questions he still has about me and the wariness, the lack of trust. I can’t blame him, and yet he keeps talking.

“So I’ll tell you myself. I had a real bastard for a step-father when I was a kid. I used to hide under my bed to avoid him when he had it in for me, the closet so I didn’t have to hear it when he had it in for my mother. When he got popped for armed robbery and sent to prison, my mother and I were relieved. Relieved. Picked up and moved to a new state so we’d be long gone before he got out. And Peeta was the first person to figure most of that out without me having to tell him, a few months after we met. He was the first person I felt I could talk to about it without having to pay him for his time afterwards or worry about that awful look people give you when they don’t know what to say. He was there when I worked up the nerve to tell Annie. Stayed by his phone in case she didn’t react well and I needed someone to help me pick up the pieces.”

I can’t even blink. Finnick’s story...it’s horrifying.

“Did he ever mention that’s the real thread that ties his closest friends together? Not snowboarding or surfing or skateboarding or even where we went to college? The guy's got a weird sixth sense when it comes to shit like that, and it always made me wonder if there was something similar in his own past. But if there was, he never told any of us. Not directly. There were hints of it here and there. And I’m guessing it’s because somehow, whatever happened to him is tied to you.” He points at me and my spine stiffens. Finnick smiles for the first time since sitting in front of me and I feel like all my secrets are being read in my eyes. “Telling us his story would be telling us yours. Wouldn’t it?”

It feels like there’s a hand on my heart, squeezing tight and making any answer impossible. I can’t even nod.

“Johanna thinks you’re the source of the problem. I call bullshit. That day at the ski lifts, then the night in the club...well let’s just say that I’ve never seen Peeta shut down Darius’ flirting before. Not even with a girl Peeta was actually dating at the time. Everything about the way you and he acted around each other, the few things I do know about your and his childhood, put it together and it’s pretty clear... You love each other.”

I suck in a sharp breath and Finnick tilts his head. Watching my reaction. My grip on my phone is painful now. It’s one thing for Prim to say it, for Haymitch to imply it. Another for Finnick who’s seen me all of twice in my entire life to throw it out there so simply.

“I’m still not decided on what way you love one another. But it was obvious to anyone paying attention. So I’m standing here, hoping that you, someone who cares about him and knew him before I did, might have some fucking clue what I should do or say to him to get his head out of whatever mess it’s in right now and back in this race.”

I shake my head and pull my hand back away from Haymitch, back into my lap, bouncing my leg and wishing Haymitch would stop burning holes in my head.

“I’m not sure that I’m the right person to fix this.” He doesn’t want me. I’ll only make it worse. Reminding him of all the hurt and lost chances. The things we’ll never be able to have.

“Damnit, Katniss! Don’t tell me that! I actually liked you! And after some of the shit he’s gone through, the way he’s been acting the past year, I was sure you’d be the one! I’ve only got a vague idea of what happened between the two of you these past weeks because he won’t fucking talk about it. Tell me I haven’t misjudged you! He’s back there muttering about all of this being useless and not hearing a thing that I--”

“Useless?” my head whips up to stare at Finnick and he blinks, his hand frozen mid-gesture, handsome face slowly losing his glare as recognition passes between us. “That’s the word he’s using? Useless?”

“Yeah,” Finnick says and hesitates for a second. “Useless, stupid, worthless… those are the ones I’ve caught that rung some warning bells, but it’s been hard to understand him. Any of that mean something to you?”

My pulse kicks up and my hands start shaking.

“Move,” Haymitch says but he doesn’t need to. I’m already in motion, barreling over stands and steps, skidding through snow. “Move faster, Sweetheart!”

“Seriously? Alright!” Finnick says and catches up to me just as I reach the control point. Finnick flashes his pass, claiming that I’m with him as I hurry through, not caring if a security guard tackles me right now. I spot Peeta standing next to Chaff, head bent, body rigid. His board on its tail in front of him. Hands gripping either side.

“Oh hell no!” My head jerks to the side and I slide to a halt as Finnick steps in front of me, but not before I see Johanna snarling and charging towards me. “What the fuck is she doing here, Finnick?”

“Darius,” Finnick says and then Darius has his arms around Johanna, restraining her as she kicks and fights.

“Lemme go! I don’t care how famous you are! I’ll rip your fucking throat out!”

“She’s here to help,” Finnick says but then turns to me, his eyes unyielding. “If you make it worse, I’ll tell Darius to let her go. And I won’t stop her. I might even hold you down for her. Understood?”

I nod and Finnick steps aside, waving me towards Peeta. I’m starting to feel nauseous, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I shake my head, trying to get rid of the voices of the past, screaming at me that I’ll only make it worse. I’ve done enough already.

But those are her words, not mine.

He hasn’t moved since I laid eyes on him, but as I approach, his feet shift. It’s like he can feel me, his head turning to look at me. With empty blue eyes ringed in the dark purple of sleepless nights.

 _Oh Peeta,_ I think for a second. Then he turns away from me.

No. I won’t let this happen. I promised not to let it happen again. I didn’t think she could get to him. He didn’t even see her, but I guess I underestimated just how deep her poison runs. How long it can linger. It’s affected me, and I didn’t have to live with it being poured in my ears for years. My hands stop shaking as I clench them into fists and hasten my steps. I don’t know if I can uncoil the mess, but I know that I have got to try.

“Hey!” I say and grab the edge of his bib to yank him around to face me. Chaff steps back, mid-sentence, eyes wide. “What’s this I hear about you pulling out early?”

“I’m not gonna drop out, Katniss,” he mumbles.

“But you’ve already checked out mentally, haven’t you?”

“Please just leave me alone. I don’t need your pity or your guilt.” His voice is hollow and that’s so much worse than anger.

“Good. You’re not getting them,” I say and he blinks, confusion slipping into his gaze. “So you had a shitty day of practice and a shitty first run. Big fucking deal. Happens to the best of us. But this doubt...this giving up and feeling sorry for yourself...that’s not you, Peeta. That’s _her.”_

He flinches, so I know he understands, and I pull him back, closer this time. My vision fills with blue and I can feel my blood pounding through my body. I need to make him feel it too. He needs to hear this. And, I guess, he needs to hear it from me, his partner in falling prey to her venomous destruction.

“You don’t give up, Cupcake. You’re the one who takes a half an over-rotation and turns it into a whole extra turn. You’re one the who makes a game out of falling so someone can learn to pick themselves back up and keep enjoying life. Even after they make mistakes. You’re the one who’s always fighting back. Finding ways to help everyone you love to fight back.” I wave off to the side where Finnick and the others stand. His gaze flicks over to them and he blinks again. I don’t have time to analyze the look in his eyes and tug on his coat to get him to focus back on me.

“So fight back for yourself. Tell her to shut the fuck up and get out of your head! She doesn’t belong there! She’s wrong! She was always wrong! About _everything_.”

My voice cracks pathetically and he drops his board, his hands curling around my neck, frozen and shaking fingers digging into my hair as he holds us together. Certainty makes my voice soft and my throat tight. “Okay, maybe she was right about Ryen’s sloppy turns and his hair cuts making him look like a tool, but come on. We’ve all said that at some point.”

Peeta huffs out a short laugh as I roll my eyes and the hand squeezing my heart loosens its grip a little.

“But she was wrong about you. Because you aren’t her. You, the board, the mountain, remember? No one telling you what you can’t do, how you should or shouldn’t feel. Just you. Go do that. Don’t worry about gates or time or position. Go up there and just be you, Peeta.”

His thumbs caress the line of my jaw when he asks the one question that still matters. “Why are you doing this?”  

“Because this is what you and I do. We don’t let each other quit. We chase away the doubts the other can’t,” I tell him, and I know it’s not enough. Now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. Even if I could, I don’t want to. I’m still terrified and I can feel my body vibrating with fear. But fear I can face. As long as we have each other.

“No more could have beens or never was. No more missed shots,” I whisper as I tilt my head and press my lips to his. He shudders for a second and then his hands massage my neck. I breathe through my nose until his breaths match the cadence of mine then I hold for another dozen shared breaths before I separate our mouths. My eyes meet his and I don’t look away from the blue that I could never forget.

“Don’t let her take this from you,” I whisper and he shakes his head.

“No -- I don’t -- can’t...”

“Yes, you can. You weren’t even competing a year ago, Peeta, and look at where you are. You’re competing at an Olympic level. You have a shot at a spot on a World Cup podium. _You_ did that. In less than a year.”

“Only because you and Haymitch dragged me out of bed and scared the shit out of me.” He sounds a little angry this time. It’s better than hollow.

“Can’t ride your board down a mountain for you,” I say with a smile and his eyes search mine for a moment before they slide shut. I can tell I’ve almost got him. Just a little further. And now, it’s a distance that I have to travel.

“I’m going to be waiting at the bottom of this mountain for you, Peeta. We still have a thousand things we want to say to each other. I’ve already waited ten years for you. And _only_ you. Twice over. I’ll wait another ten if I have to--” My voice cracks and he opens his eyes again, his nose brushing close to mine -- “but I’d rather not wait one second longer than necessary.”

“Katniss, I --” I tug on his collar and kiss him again. He tries to argue, but only for a second and then I forget that I’m standing in the freezing cold on the side of a mountain. The warmth of summer pulses through me, to the tips of my being. Through my skin to his, or maybe it’s just his warmth that I feel. One of his arms wraps around me, holding us pressed close together. Closer still as we kiss, until my hands ache, smashed between us. I’m panting when I pull away this time and stare into his dazed blue eyes.

“Say it after you crush this course.” It takes a moment before he nods and I loosen my grip. “Not one second more than necessary. Promise?”

“Promise,” he murmurs and I kiss him one more time, soft and short, before I release him. Reluctant to let him go, but hopeful that I helped. Chaff hands him his board, face confused as Peeta turns towards the lifts with him.

“Hey, Peeta!” I shout when he’s a few feet away from me.

“Yeah?” And for just a second, there’s all the hope in the world in his eyes.

“Go get it!” He smiles and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in weeks.

I watch him until it’s impossible and then I turn around to find his three friends watching me. Johanna’s laying on her belly in the snow, no longer in Darius’ hold, her jaw gaping to reveal a wad of purple gum. Darius keeps looking between me and Finnick, who’s focused on me, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

“Alright, I’ll fucking ask it,” Johanna says as she stands and brushes snow off herself. “Who the fuck is ‘her’ and what the fuck did she do?”

I have to swallow before I can answer. “His mother,” I say and walk back towards the stands without explaining the rest. I’m not up to it right now.

I can feel them following behind me, but don’t say a word. I sit next to Haymitch and he lifts one arm. I fall against him and his arms are around me, hand rubbing up and down my back as I tremble and let the tension slide out through my tears, into his coat.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asks and I nod.

“I think so.”

It’s another few minutes before anyone talks, and I’m grateful for the mostly empty seats around us when Darius finally asks what I think has been burning in his brain.

“So did she hit him?” No one answers at first. “Like my dad?”

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, understanding what Finnick meant when he said it was the thread that tied them all together.

“I don’t think so,” Finnick says.

“Oh,” Darius says. “I thought that’d explain the bit in the article about her not getting custody. Sounded like they meant to say ‘removal of parental rights’ but wanted to be nice about it.”

“What article?” Johanna asks and Darius digs a magazine out of his bag, hands it to her. I just catch a flash of the article I read last night, the magazine folded open to that page. “Come on man, you actually read this drivel? You gotta know it’s only half true and all sensationalism.”

An announcement crackles over the intercom, informing us that the timing device has been replaced and racing will now resume. I sit up out of Haymitch’s embrace and wipe my tears.

“Words,” I tell Darius. “Her weapon was her words. And she knew which ones could hurt the most. She controlled everyone that had access to him after the accident. Probably blocked my calls getting through. Then she figured out our worst fears and made us believe they were real. She told me it was my fault that Peeta lost his leg, that Peeta blamed me. She told him that I didn’t want anything to do with him any more. That he was worthless and useless without his leg. Stupid for caring about me and who knows what else. Then my parents…” I have to stop and take a few deep breaths. Finnick squeezes my hand in his, and it’s oddly comforting. Because he loves Peeta too. “All she had to do was make us believe her lies for a handful of weeks, and then it was too late. We weren’t...we weren’t equipped to deal with what she did to us. Not without each other.”

Then I turn to Johanna and don’t break away from her fiery gaze. “And for once, there isn’t a single lie in that story. Sometimes I wish it were all a bad dream or a story made up for sensation. But it wasn’t. It was all real. Not all of it is in there, but most of it is.”

We wait. Johanna reads, muttering the occasional curse word. When she’s done, she hands it to Finnick.

“I read it the other day,” Finnick says, but he still flips the pages to look at some of the pictures. Haymitch drinks from the thermos then passes it to me. I watch one racer after another cross the finish line, unaware of their times or how their run goes.

Darius tells me all about his home. I listen between the words and hear the story of an abusive father, a mother who eventually found a way to leave Oregon with her young son, to disappear into California where she died and Darius wound up adopted by the family of strangers in Napa Valley who had taken him and his mother in for a night. How much emphasis he places on the selfless kindness of total strangers for keeping him alive, giving him a chance at a real future.

“No wonder you’re friends with Peeta,” I say and Darius smiles. He’s like that too. Thoughtful, generous, kind.

“Hey look,” Johanna says, tapping Darius on the arm to draw our attention to the screen.

It’s Peeta.

Only for about ten seconds, but that’s long enough. He’s got his helmet and goggles off, his ears burning red with the cold. And a set of earbuds in as he bobs and dances, swings his arms, eyes focused on the ground in front of him. I make a small choking noise and Haymitch grunts in approval.

The image shifts to another racer that I don’t care about for a moment, and then to the racer in the gate and Finnick elbows me. I look over and down at the glossy pages of the magazine as he taps his finger on a picture. It’s one of my races, but there we are. Thirteen years old and dancing. Headphones shared between us, joined hands raised up in the air. I smile and nod, unable to say it, but Finnick understands.

Peeta’s still fighting.

“Guess your throat is safe for awhile longer,” he says and Johanna laughs.

“Don’t get too comfy, Brainless.”

I wonder what her story is. Or Pollux and Castor’s for that matter. I don’t ask, choosing to let her decide when she can trust me with it, if ever. For now, it’s enough to know that Peeta was never completely alone. At least if I couldn’t be there, he had these five friends who understood him, even if they didn’t realize why.

“Alright kiddos,” Haymitch says as Peeta’s name shows up on the board and they announce his second run before the screen switches to show him in the gate. He grips the bars and bends into his ready stance. The corner of his mouth twitches once.

And then he’s out of the gate.

“Whoa!” Darius says and I grip Haymitch’s arm, my pulse stopping for a second until Peeta lands and flies around the first turn and the cameras cut to the next view. I’ve never seen him throw himself onto the course quite like that.

He’s got the attention of the crowd, too as he careens through the turns and his first split shows him ahead of the leader. The man behind us says something but I don’t turn around this time.

“Next turn,” Finnick says and I nod. It’s the one that’s been tripping him up. We hold our breaths and lean forward as Peeta flies around it. Flawless.

“Yeah!” Johanna shouts, pumping her fist up once. “Go, Blondie! Go!”

But he’s not even halfway down.

“Katniss,” Haymitch says at the next split.

“I see it, I see it, too.” Screw conservative and consistent today. Peeta’s attacking this course and it’s paying off. He’s somehow picking up speed, making his lead bigger.

He wobbles a little coming out of one turn but keeps control of it. Finnick grabs my other arm. When Peeta’s got two more turns, we’re all on our feet, jumping and shouting. Even Haymitch.

Peeta whips around the last turn, body low to the ground as he comes into our view and he pulls up to straighten his course then crouches back down for speed. My ears ring with the shouts all around me as he crosses the finish line and swings the board around to stop it. As soon as he stops sliding, he bends over to rest his elbows on his knees, hands hanging between his legs, limp with relief.

But my voice is hoarse and I can barely hear a thing over the noise except Darius yelling “Holy shit!” over and over and Finnick saying, “He doesn’t know! He hasn’t looked yet!”

And then we’re all yelling for Peeta to look at the board and waving frantically. He finally stands upright and finds us, pausing for a moment and then following our motions to look at his time and his name in first place. With a commanding lead.

I can see him do a double take and then he’s bent over again, only this time he’s yelling and pumping one fist at his waist in triumph. It’s only a few seconds of celebration but it takes everything he’s got left after to make his way off the flat. We carry on the celebration in the stands. Finnick and Haymitch both have their arms around me and Johanna’s kissing Darius.

“Hey Johanna, that’s Darius not Pollux,” I say and she glares up at me. “Just thought you might want some help keeping your redheads straight.”

Finnick laughs and lifts me off my feet while Darius tries to regain his bearings.

And just like that, Peeta’s the one they’re all chasing.

They don’t catch him.

On his third and final run, Peeta cuts down the course easy and smooth, and while his time is a little slower than his previous run, it’s not by much. He’d still be in first even if this were his best. Not only that, it puts him within reach of third place in the world cup standings, pending the results of their final regular season race in two days. I won’t be here for that race. I’ll be on my way to Korea for the opening ceremonies.

The mood in our group is completely different by the time the stands start to empty and we move to greet Peeta. I let his friends go first. They pile on top of him and bombard him with excited chatter and encouragement. I stand back with Haymitch and watch, a smile on my face and an ache in my chest as I quietly celebrate the fact that when I can’t physically be here for Peeta, he has other people who will.

They let him go when Darius mentions dinner and Peeta glances over at me, telling his friends to go ahead and figure out where we should eat. They move slowly with the excitement still high, as Peeta walks over to us. Haymitch greets him first with a brusque hug and a, “Good job, Cupcake,” before he leaves us alone, saying he’ll see us at dinner. There are still people milling about, but I ignore them as Peeta takes the last few steps towards me.

“Katniss.” My pulse stutters as his toes nudge mine and he lowers his forehead to rest on mine. The rest of the world melts away as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

My hands lift on their own to grip his shoulders and hold him. His hands rest on my hips. I stare at his eyelashes, wanting to see his eyes, heart tripping when he opens them and doesn’t look away while he utters three syllables. Not the ones I’m expecting. But they mean the same thing.

For a second, my pulse stops. I stare at him, stunned. I know my mouth is hanging open and he winces.

“I butchered it, didn’t I?”

My heart roars back to life. He did. Only the middle syllable, but I don’t even care. I cup my gloved hand over his cheek and give the words right back to him. He shifts and looks even more chagrined.

“Sorry, I’ve been working on getting it right for weeks but I thought I had a few more to practice.”

“No, Peeta,” I say as my lips turn up in a smile. The fact that he learned how to say it and clearly took the time to try to perfect saying it means everything to me, and tears form at the corners of my eyes. There are roughly five thousand people who are known to speak Arapaho, and Peeta somehow found a way to start learning it anyways. For me. “That wasn’t a correction.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No,” I shake my head and bite my lip. “I mean, you did mispronounce it a little, but you can practice saying it to me as often as you like. I won’t let you quit until you get it right.”

So there’s no confusion, I slide my cheek against his and whisper in his ear, in English.

“I love you, Peeta.”

Then just to be certain, I kiss that cheek and slowly shift so my lips are near his other ear. I’m sure I mispronounce it too, but I try it out in Norwegian, smiling when his fingers clench on my hips. For good measure, I say it once more in Arapaho. To his lips.

Because I was right that day over the summer. This would’ve happened anyways. It was always Peeta. Always going to be him, whether it was ten years, twenty, or even a hundred.

And I don’t care who’s watching or who on this planet knows about us when he kisses me. My toes curl in my boots and I slide my fingers up to curl in his hair. I’m soaring on joy and something with more heat behind it, planning a quick escape route with the handful of brain cells not dedicated to feeling everything in this kiss, when someone wolf whistles at us. Obnoxious heckling follows and I hide my face in Peeta’s neck, muffle my laughter against his skin while I try to catch my breath.

His teammates offer their congratulations on his first place finish, joking that medals and points clearly aren’t the only thing Peeta’s getting for his run today. I’m eventually able to leave my hiding place and smile, red faced as Beetee diverts attention to me. Peeta’s arms remain around me, although loose enough for me to turn and carry on a conversation.

“Shouldn’t you be on a plane to Korea?” Beetee asks.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” I say and they all wish me good luck.

It takes us a few more minutes to finish talking to Peeta’s teammates and collect his things, but then we’re able to leave.

There are still deep circles beneath Peeta’s eyes. I’m exhausted after the rollercoaster that was today, and it’s not over yet. We’re supposed to meet Haymitch and Peeta’s friends later on for dinner, and Peeta wants to shower beforehand. While I’m thrilled that his friends are here for him and want to celebrate his win today, there’s also a large part of me that just wants to get him alone.

I hold onto his hand as we walk to his room, unwilling to let go just yet. I can’t stand the thought of another night, another unnecessary minute with doors or distance between us. There are already too many of those behind us and only more ahead of us.

Ansel is on his way out of their room when we reach it. He grins at us and my ears warm before he even says, “I assume you two won’t mind me skipping the celebrations.” He wishes us a pleasant night before disappearing.

“This one’s mine,” Peeta says once we’re inside, motioning to the bed before digging through his bag for fresh clothes. “I’ll only be a minute.”

I hang my coat in the closet, sit on his bed and tug off my boots. I bounce my foot and bite my nails, restless and something else I can’t quite name. When I hear the water start, I consider turning on the TV, but the thing is... I have finally figured out exactly what I want after the finish line and I don’t want to wait another second. So I stand and march into the bathroom.

“Peeta,” I say and cross my arms when he glances up at me. He’s already got everything but his pants off and heat engulfs me, warmer and more sinuous than the steam from the shower. His cheeks are pink and I’m the worthless one as we just stand there and the words I want to say jam up inside my throat. There are still a thousand things we need to talk about, but something about the sight of him shirtless makes words pointless.

“Did you want to,” Peeta motions towards the shower and finishes the question hopefully, “join me?”

I shake my head and he drops his hand. “Did you need something?” This time I nod and take the last few steps to him. His eyes roam over my face and I wonder if he can see in my eyes just how much I feel when I’m with him.

“I’m not good with words,” I admit and he lifts a hand to caress my face, fingers on my neck only making me want him more, thumb on my chin, and yet I somehow manage to speak. “I’m good at doing.”

I groan internally at how awkward that sounded and Peeta’s eyes dance with laughter.

“You seemed to do just fine with the words earlier. I think you underestimate yourself too much,” he soothes as he tilts my head back and kisses me. His lips are soft on mine and I hold still to enjoy the warmth of it as he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and massages it. When he releases my lip and I manage to look at him again, my pulse thunders in my ears. There’s no laughter in his eyes. “You still have no idea the effect you can have.”

My mouth still hangs open, waiting for his lips. His tongue. But he tilts his head down. His forehead brushing the tip of my nose. The tip of his nose catching on my lip as I can’t stop panting. We stand there like that and while I feel him move, I can’t see what he’s doing. Then I hear the shower water stop.

“But if you’re still unsure of your words… then show me,” he whispers.

I inhale and release the air in a long sigh as I lean towards him. He barely moves as I press soft kisses to his jaw, his throat, his lips. All he does is move his hand to cup the back of my neck and rub gentle circles with his thumb. Somehow, I know he needs more. And even if he doesn’t, I do.

“You,” I kiss along his collar bone, out to his shoulder where I tilt my head and find him watching me. “I need you, Peeta.”

Then I throw myself in deep, wrap my arms around his torso as we kiss. His fingers tangle in my hair and our tongues tangle in my mouth. At first I try to control it, but I quickly give up and ride the wave of feeling. We’re still kissing maybe ten minutes later as he walks us across the room. My back hits the door jamb and my toes brush cool metal and I shiver. His right foot.

“Sorry,” he breaks the kiss to apologize and I yank on his hair to bring him back, stare in his eyes.

“Peeta, stop that.” I kiss him before he can argue or get lost in doubts. It must work because the next thing he whispers when we come up for air and he kisses a trail down my throat makes me laugh.

“How attached are you to this shirt?”

“Not at all,” I say, confused until he essentially rips it off me with his lips still attached to my neck. I gasp and dig my nails into his shoulders, astonished at the burst of arousal throbbing inside me and the sudden mental images of Peeta throwing me on a bed, pinning me down. Manhandling me.

Fuck, I want that. Maybe next time.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he promises before he resumes kissing me and we work together to get my pants off.

“Or let me wear one of yours,” I say as I kick aside the pants and he makes a choked noise in his throat before lifting his head to stare down at me. I’m overwhelmed and humbled by what I see in his eyes. It feels old as time, rejuvenating like spring rain. A deep love and an eternal desire that I feel too, pulsing deep in my bones.

“Touch me?” I plead and fuse our mouths back together. He spins us and we lose our balance. This time it’s his back that hits the door frame on the other side. We can’t even get out of the bathroom apparently and laugh into the other’s mouths. I straddle his thigh, grinding my clit on his taut muscles, powerful enough for me to feel even through the layers of clothes that still separate us. I’m desperate for the stimulation and Peeta tugs on my hips for a second or two, urging me to keep going.

Laughter turns to moans as our hands roam. Peeta caresses my waist and hips. It’s driving me crazy, these soft gentle touches. Leaving one hand to continue his torment, he skims the other down over my ass, the heat of his palm thrilling even through my panties. My hips jerk once and then his fingers are on my folds, teasing me through cotton as I whimper in his mouth, tug on his hair.

But although this feels so so good and I don’t want to stop until I come like this, I also don’t want this to just be about me. I pry one hand from his curls, spread my fingers and press into the hard plane of muscle, feel each one spasm as I touch it on my way down his chest, all the way down to his cock. I grip him as best I can through his pants and smile against his mouth when he groans. There is no denying that Peeta’s completely turned on right now.

He twitches beneath my palm and then his hands cover my back, up to my bra as I stroke him. I pay no mind to the tug of him working the clasp, knowing that when I get him out of these pants, he’s going to be as throbbing and desperate as me.

“Oh Peeta,” I coo. “All for me?”

“Always,” he murmurs. “Everything I am is all yours.”

Then my bra is gone and he thumbs at my nipples. The pleasure streaks through me and I wind my arms around him again, unable to touch his neck and shoulders enough to satisfy, desperate to be completely skin to skin. We press together, scorched and writhing as we kiss wildly, feet blindly moving us through rooms. I have to walk on my tip toes, arched into his body, twisting my torso to rub my nipples against his chest because it feels so good. Hot and wondrous.

My legs hit the bed and one of Peeta’s hands leaves me to catch us as we fall. I squeal into his mouth when I land and his weight presses down on me.

“Katniss,” he murmurs as he rains kisses over my face and down my neck. “I love you so much. Katniss,” he kisses my name into my skin, a petal soft benediction of love. “I need you, too. I should have told you months ago. I was just so scared. Scared of driving you away or maybe of the possibility that I was alone in feeling this way. That you’d wake up one day and wish you were with someone else. Someone who could hope to deserve you. It’s all felt like a dream and I was sure I’d wake up to a nightmare. I’m still scared right now, but not telling you has done nothing good. Let me say it every day for the rest of my life?” He breathes the request over one breast and then sucks that nipple between his teeth.

“Peeta...yes, oh please,” I whine as the aching in my core intensifies, rolling over itself and demanding appeasement. My hands can’t settle on a place to touch. His shoulders, his ears, his hair, and finally I find one of his hands and lace our fingers together. He lifts our joined hands and kisses mine before returning his attention to my chest.

“Love it when you say my name like that,” he whispers to the valley then lavishes the other breast with his attentions. “I love kissing every inch of your body.”

“Later,” I say. “We don’t have that much time left before dinner.”

He turns out of my hold, smiling when I whine and grasp at him to bring him back to me. Peeta sits up on the edge of the bed and lifts his hips enough to push his pants down his legs. When he reaches for his prosthesis, I’m struck with a need. To show him.

I lay my hands over his and meet his questioning eyes with what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Let me?”

He hesitates but nods once. I kiss him quick and then unfasten his leg, the way I’ve seen him do so many times now. He pushes against the leg and when the pressure releases, I remove it from his body. Peeta takes it from me to set aside then watches as I peel back the protective sleeve. I can feel the intensity of his gaze as I rub his thigh all the way down to where his leg truncates. I let my fingertips graze over the reddened, irritated flesh and wish he’d never had to deal with this.

He slides his fingers under my chin and lifts it so that I look him in the eyes. “No more could have beens, Katniss. Promise?”

I can feel my eyes burning with held back tears and nod, rest my arms on his shoulders and kiss him. We’re kissing when he unwinds my braid and runs his fingers through my hair, sending delightful shivers up and down my spine. We’re still kissing when he flips us around, onto my back, and he settles between my thighs. We’re still kissing when I mutter into his mouth that I can’t wait any longer. He lifts his head and I repeat my demand.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” I groan as I shove his briefs down his hips. Together we get those off and he kisses down the length of one leg as he lifts them together, my toes pointed at the ceiling and my body vibrating with need. He peels my panties from my body and stretches back over me. I cover his chest with kisses while he searches through his bag. He comes up with a condom and I’ve resorted to biting him while he fumbles to get the damn thing on.

“Now. I need you inside me now, Peeta.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyeing the separation of our groins from all the movement in the last thirty seconds. Before I can move, he wraps an arm around me and yanks me down the bed to him.

My limbs snap into a tight embrace. Legs around his hips, arms around his shoulders, holding him to me so I can feel all of his heat against me as I kiss him. My tongue and the rolling of my hips urges him to hurry, but my arms hold him to lingering in kisses. His cock brushes my folds, and while that’s what I want, I don’t protest when he twists in my embrace and instead his hand serves my desires.

“Oh god,” I moan and rise into an arch to take his fingers. “Yes. More. More, Peeta!”

I keep making demands but Peeta seems to like it. His hips thrust into me every time I gasp a command or beg him for something. And he doesn’t stop fingering me until I yell at him to give me his cock this second.

When his fingers leave me, I almost regret my harsh words, but then he’s sliding into me, kissing my brow and murmuring words of love. When he’s all the way home, I sigh in relief and gaze up at his face, contorted with effort and eyes shining with want.

I pull him to me for a kiss and taste his moans as he throbs inside me. I twirl locks of his hair around my fingers and when he lifts his head, it takes everything in me not to cry at the way he looks at me. I thought I’d lost this look all over again and it hits me now, just how damaged beyond repair I’d be losing him twice.

“I’m scared too, Peeta,” I whisper. There’s still a hundred things to say. Half of them should have been said months ago. “But I’m more scared of what happens without you by my side. Because with you, somehow I believe that I can survive anything.”

His lips spasm and I lift my hips into his, urging him to move. With a groan, he gives me what I need.

“Tell me what you need, Katniss,” he whispers and I flex my fingers on his back, lift my hips to feel the slide of him inside me.

“You. This. Every day. For the rest of my life.” His thrusts deepen with each word I gasp. “You’ve taken root in my skin, my heart, and I don’t want you to ever leave. No matter how far away I go or how long I’m away from you...I always come back to you. I’m in love with you, Peeta.”

And while it feels glorious and I know I could come this way with his eyes locked with mine and the feel of his muscles rippling beneath my hands, the noises he’s making tell me he’s already close. He pauses at one point and rolls his hips. My walls spasm and I flirt with release, revel at the feel of him filling me so completely, so deep that his balls press hot against me, a promise for the future.

“Katniss, fuck! I’m too close,” he says with a handful of desperate kisses. Before I have a chance to tell him to go ahead, he pulls out of me and vanishes from my hold. He grips my thighs from underneath, holding them wide open for his mouth.

I forget selflessness and grind up into his face as he sucks on my clit, licks my lips. I reach down to toy with his hair and wind up gripping it to ground myself because I’m flying within minutes, floating high enough to see shades of purple and darkness speckled with brilliant stars for just a second before release skitters away.

His phone rings and he ignores it, focused solely on me, and it’s impossible to ignore the feel of his fingers as he curls them inside me, leading me right back to the edge and then tipping me over with several good sucks of my clit. I ride it out on his lips, shameless and heedless of the gibberish pouring out of my mouth.

I’m still moaning and working my parched throat when Peeta pries himself free of my hold and runs his tongue up the length of my body to suckle on my neck, his fingers still buried deep inside me. When he finally draws those out, I grasp hold of his wrist before he can wipe them clean and give in to an insane urge. I hold his glistening fingers in front of my mouth and lick up their length, like I would do with his cock, eyes honed in on his.

I smile in triumph when his cock responds, twitching against my thigh. So I do it again. And again, finally opening my mouth wide and placing his fingers inside, closing my lips around them to suck off the rest of myself. I taste tangy on his fingers, but I’m not given time to decide if I enjoy the taste.

Peeta yanks his fingers free and fills my mouth with his tongue and half a dozen curses words and scattered pleas.

“Katniss. I want this too.” He moves my body for a better angle and plunges deep, hips rocking into me and both arms holding me close. It’s only when I manage to lift myself into his body that I realize he’s on his knees. Or at least, his knee and the end of his leg. I grab hold of his neck and his right leg, hoping to stabilize us both as he thrusts. “Fuck me, you’re so warm. Feels so good. Want this, want you, every day”.

His phone rings again and his movements stutter.

“Fuck, leave me alone,” he groans and I stifle my laugh by sucking on his ear. He snatches the phone off the nightstand to silence it then tosses it across the room, barely breaking stride as he does.

“Come for me, Peeta,” I whisper. “I want you to come inside me.”

“Oh god.” His fingers dig into me and he whips our bodies upright, keeps the pace with his hips and his hands on my ass, fingers digging into my skin. Sweat from his forehead brands my chest, mingles with my own perspiration. He gives me panted moans, stammered filth. I plant my hands on the bed behind me, determined to help him along, but a few choice words fly out of my mouth as his cock rubs a spot that clearly needs his attention. The headboard starts to smack the wall. I throw my head back and close my eyes as we move, the steady _thuds_ overlapping with our moans and whispered vows.

My limbs are rapidly tiring but I’m so close. Close enough to taste it on the air and feel it in my toes. “Please. Peeta. Please. I need—“

My back hits the sheets, my breath leaving my lungs in a rush. My head is lost in a pile of pillows, and Peeta slams into me over and over. I shove aside the pillows so I can see him. See his eyes.

“You love me,” he gasps and I nod frantically.

“I do, Peeta.” I claw at his chest and his arms, let his enraptured words and sounds pour over me.

“I don’t need anything…anything as badly as I need you, Katniss.” Harder and faster until I have to brace my hands on the head board or risk hitting my skull on it. His hand grips my hair, providing a barrier and further protecting my head. “Show me. Let me feel how much you need me.”

My legs squeeze him tighter. Hands running down his body to grab his ass and pull him deeper as I rise up to meet his hard thrusts.

“Oh fuck I need to come. Katniss.” And somehow, he finds a deep well inside me and springs it so that when he rams home and shouts, pulsing and filling the condom, he takes me right along with him, thrashing and wailing that I love him as it consumes me and I wrap myself around him to live in the feelings.

“Oooh,” his moan drags on forever, his hips rolling and drawing out both our orgasms. Past pleasure to pain and then back again, to a satisfaction I feel all the way down in the marrow of my bones. For a brief, insane moment, I wish he was spilling into me instead of a latex barrier. Planting seeds of a different kind of love.

The thought catches me off guard and I once more find myself hiding my laughter in his neck and toying with his hair as tears stream down my cheeks and Peeta’s heart pounds in time with mine and he fills my ears with the sounds of his gasping moans.

We lay there for what feels like hours, clinging to one another. Falling deeper as the fears dissipate. Blocked by his arms around me, his kisses as bathes me with his love. His hand is still tangled in my hair and I wind my fingers through strands to reach his. His grip loosens just enough to twine our fingers together in my hair, then tightens again.

“Ask me again, Peeta. Ask me what I feel,” I whisper when we’re breathing more steadily, his fingers caressing up and down my leg. He turns his head so that his lips tickle my ear as he whispers too.

“What do you feel right now, Katniss?” his voice sounds deeper than normal, the honeyed tones of true fulfillment and relaxation.

“Satisfied. Joy. Hopeful,” I kiss each feeling onto his shoulder until he lifts his head to peer down at me and I trace his lips with my fingers. “Love.”

“Love you, Katniss.” He smiles at me and then his phone chimes with a message. “Hope you’re hungry, too,” he says with a sigh and I wind my fingers through his hair.

“For you? Always,” I say and pull him to me for a last kiss before we have to go deal with people.

As we kiss, I wish that we could just stay in bed, maybe for an entire lazy day of sleep, spooning, and love. We haven’t had that yet. A night here a morning there, yes, but our full schedules and families have made a lazy day like that unfeasible. Unfortunately, it can’t be today.

Our grumbling stomachs remind us of that and I slip naked from the sheets on wobbling legs to find Peeta’s phone while he searches underneath the bed for his forearm crutches. He’s leveraging himself off the mattress as I find his phone under the desk. I tuck back my hair and smile at the crescent shapes my nails left in his ass cheeks. The long red lines over his shoulders and back. Proof of my need for him.

He smiles at me and it’s so bright that I have to look away, down at the screen. I choke on my smile and saliva as I read the most recent text messages from Finnick.

_Dude, I know you’re getting laid right now - the whole floor knows it - but we’re all hungry and not getting laid._

_So we’re going to dinner without you._

_Feel free to join us when you decide to surface. ;-p_

“What’s it say?” Peeta pries his phone from my hands before I can even think of one thing to say. A short laugh escapes my mouth as Peeta reads, another one and he looks up at me, wary until I plaster my body against his and wrap my arms around him to kiss him on the cheek. Well, they already know so I might as well laugh at it.

“Guess we were a little obvious, huh?”

“And loud,” he teases me and I shrug.

“Oops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Nike’s N7 Ambassadors are both athletes who reflect the Native American and Aboriginal community and influencers who choose to use their voice to inspire future generations and to celebrate the power of native youth.”
> 
> http://n7fund.com/ambassadors/
> 
> “The N7 Fund provides grants to Native American and Aboriginal communities in support of sport and physical activity programs for youth.”
> 
> http://n7fund.com
> 
> The name, N7 refers to the idea that we must live our lives with a mindset to future generations, guided by those of the past. It’s a philosophy that focuses on how our actions will affect seven generations from now and celebrates the wisdom and lessons taught to us by the seven generations previous to ours.


	25. A Grand Entrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback covers January to November 2016. I know they're overlapping a bit now, but it can't be helped. Reminder: Katniss hits her slump and returns to Skadi for the first time in 10 years in March-ish of 2017, so we're getting close to full circle.
> 
> I know it's another monster chapter in terms of word count. That can't be helped either as I had a lot to cover and didn't want to mess with my outline. Enjoy!

_The steady sound of metal clanking on various machines overlaps in a discordant tune. Katniss leaves the weight room, ignoring everything around her except the message on her phone. From Prim. Something about replacing the dishwasher. She makes a note to call her sister later and almost runs into someone entering the weight room._

_“Excuse me,” he says and she nods before continuing on, barely registering the American voice until he speaks up again. “Hey, Everdeen.”_

_She pauses and turns to face him. Luke Kensworth. Thirty-eight years old. Highest end of season ranking 59th. Retiring at the end of this year. He waves his hand, dismissing her._

_“Never mind,” he says and she scowls but keeps walking._

_When she gets ahold of her, Prim assures Katniss that the dishwasher is already taken care of, but Katniss asks a few questions just to be sure._

_She avoids her roommate and sits in the hotel lobby, earbuds in as she watches tape and makes notes. Sends them to Haymitch who tells her to get some fucking sleep. Technique can wait until morning._

_But she can’t. If she goes to sleep, the nightmares will be waiting. An amorphous sea of faces that swallows her whole._

_Someone sits across from her and opens a laptop. She glances up at Kensworth and then back down at her own screen. His presence bothers her and eventually she shuts her laptop and heads to bed._

_Haymitch growls into the phone and argues details while her feet pound on the treadmill. “Hold on,” he tells whoever it is before turning to face her. “Finish your run and then maybe squeeze in some boxing or something to get rid of that hostility you’re carrying. Wait...tae bo or aerobic kickboxing. You actually hit something, you’re liable to injure yourself.”_

_She glares down at him. It’s not hostility. It’s fatigue. But hostility gets him to leave her alone, so she doesn’t correct him. As soon as he’s gone, someone climbs onto the treadmill next to her. A quick glance and she rolls her eyes. Kensworth is fit for a thirty-eight year old, although she guesses it’s not a surprise since he’s a career athlete. But does he really need to go shirtless at the gym?_

_He asks how she’s doing and she gives terse answers to his questions. As her treadmill beeps to signal the end of her run, she slows but he keeps going. Then because her body is strangely telling her that she’s aroused -- a strange mixture of frustration and endorphins and yes maybe some hostility -- she adds more time to her cool off until he’s walking with her._

_He makes a few suggestions for her skiing technique that might actually be helpful. She mentions that her trainers want her to get out some hostility and Luke laughs, but then smiles and suggests that maybe there’s something more enjoyable than boxing that’ll help with that._

_He’s not gentle, but neither is she. Both of them sweaty and gross and just needing a release._

_They’re not lovers. Not even friends. They don’t sleep together or share the night. She knows that this is just an itch to be scratched. Fuck and done. On the days she meets up with Luke, she’s too tired to dream at all. It becomes a part of her routine. One of the cogs in her carefully constructed regimen devoted to perfection._

_When he tells her he can’t one night, she shrugs and doesn’t feel a thing. Spends an hour in the pool to imitate the same effect as sex. Machines have no emotions anyways. She hates the name they’ve given her. As much as she hates the one about fire._

_The nightmares don’t go away completely but they become manageable. She tells Haymitch it’s the tae bo she’s been taking._

_As the season winds down, Katniss fields questions from Prim about summer plans. She needs to work, but she’s dreading her return to the country club. To the place where she met Gale and found then lost the only friend she’s had in nine years._

_“I thought maybe you could stay tonight,” Luke says as she stands from the bed and works her shirt back over her sweaty body. She winces and twists to fix her sports bra. He shoved it around to get to her breasts and now she can’t get it back on right._

_“Can’t,” she tells him and startles when he rises from the sheets and holds her head in his hands, kisses her soundly. It takes her a second to register what’s happening as memories blend and blur and her stomach recoils at his all-wrong scent and his all-wrong taste filling her mouth. They’ve never kissed before. She pounds her fists on his chest and he steps back, let’s her go with a strange expression in his eyes._

_“What the hell?”_

_“Can you blame me for trying?”_

_“When did I ever make you think that was okay?” she asks and grabs the last of her things. She leaves his room with no shoes on her feet and hurries through the halls to hers._

_She hopes he leaves it at that, but he doesn’t. He makes an attempt to talk to her when they’re waiting in line to check in for their flights back to the states. She stares at the American Airlines logo behind the counter and shakes her head._

_“Enjoy your retirement, Kensworth.”_

_It’s a long flight and she spends it either sleeping or pretending to sleep. Haymitch tucks a blanket over her at one point and she twitches, but doesn’t open her eyes. Doesn’t acknowledge his kindness._

_Prim meets them with open arms and excited stories at the airport. Katniss is grateful for the distraction, for her sister taking on the spotlight so that she doesn’t have to._

_She works, eats, sleeps, trains. On one of her days off, Prim convinces her to go out for milkshakes. They dress warm. Although spring has arrived, the mountain air still carries a chill. They walk with their shakes and Katniss listens while Prim talks._

_As they pass by a space between two stores, there’s a loud crash. They peer down the alley and Katniss nearly snorts at the frantic feline scuffle underway. At the center of it, a bedraggled orange cat arches and hisses, paws and scratches one of his foes. He’s dragging one leg and his left ear is mangled, but when the second challenger leaps on him, the orange cat twists and somehow sinks teeth in flesh until the other cat is screeching._

_Prim rushes forward and shouts. The two cats flee and the orange one slowly regains his footing, cautiously backing away as Prim coos to him._

_“Prim, leave it. He’s doing fine fending for himself,” Katniss says and Prim glares at her._

_“For how much longer?”_

_Before Katniss can open her mouth to argue that they don’t need another mouth to feed, Prim apologizes to the cat and then wrangles him into a discarded burlap sack. Katniss does open her mouth then, but then sees the tears forming on the rims of Prim’s eyes and shuts her lips._

_They work for days, delousing and dealing with fleas, constantly cleaning their apartment. Katniss wrinkles her nose at the stench, but can’t deny her sister this cat. He’s missing one eye and Katniss is convinced the other one is evil, but once he’s gotten cleaned up a bit and fed, he won’t leave Prim’s side._

_At night, Katniss wakes from her nightmares and can hear his plaintive kitten mewls through the walls and Prim’s soft singing as she soothes the cat’s fears. In the end, Katniss moves money around and finds a nearby vet with great reviews. When they’re done with the paperwork and the shots and have paid the bills and the pet deposit for their apartment, the newly christened Buttercup has a sparkling blue collar and tags with a bell around his neck. He shakes in attempts to dislodge it and Katniss swears he scowls at her, knows that the bell was her insistence after she almost tripped over him in the hallway one night. But Prim hugs Katniss and thanks her, promises she’ll pay for all his expenses from here out._

_Summer blooms then fades. The snows arrive. Katniss packs her bags for yet another season. On the morning she’s to leave, she hauls her gear to the front door and huffs with the effort. Prim is sprawled on the couch, still asleep after a late night of studying. Buttercup curled on top of her, his tail swishing rhythmically and his yellow eye alert for threats. His presence oddly comforts Katniss and makes it easier to walk out the door when the time comes._

* * *

The secret’s out, but we still shower as quickly as possible. We’re not decent for any kind of public appearance, let alone dinner with his friends and Haymitch, without washing first. Peeta delays us a little when he pulls me onto his lap and steals kisses as he washes my hair for me. Our bodies slip together with the suds covering us both and I start to make plans. For things I want when there’s no one waiting on us.

Plans of kneeling between his thighs next time we shower like this and sucking his cock, making his moans echo off the tile. Or straddling him on the chair and riding him. Curling back up in bed after we’re clean and refreshed and relaxed, wearing his shirt and my panties to whisper to one another until we fall asleep. Waking up to his kisses. Starting our day with hot chocolate and breakfast overlooking the mountains back home. So many possibilities that I have to make a list in my head for later tonight, when we have more time to talk in depth.

For now, we finish showering and dry off. I gather up my scattered clothes and wrinkle my nose at the ruined state of my panties (still wet) and my shirt (ripped). I can’t wear these again tonight and the sight of them does little to quell my desire to drag Peeta right back to bed. Quite the opposite, in fact. Ordering in is sounding like a mighty fine idea. He’s not helping either.

“I think this’ll work...sort of,” Peeta says. He hands me a worn soft, green henley. “It’ll at least get us to your room.”

“Thank you.” I take the proffered shirt and watch him, a towel wrapped around his hips and droplets of water still clinging to his chest and shoulders as he finds clean clothes for himself in his bag.

Lucky water droplets. I want to lick them off his skin to punish them for my envy. Blood rushes through me with rekindled arousal. Oh fine, it never really faded. It’s that hum again, the one that’s always in the back of my mind around him. Just below the surface of my skin, dormant and needing only the smallest provocation to flare up out of control.

I force myself to ignore my ardor and slip his shirt on over my bra. It smells faintly of him and laundry soap, comforting and warm. The shirt slides off one shoulder, exposing my bra strap as I put my jeans back on. I shimmy uncomfortably as I stuff my wet panties deep into my pocket. I’m not sure if the rough fabric on my bare folds is arousing or chafing.

“Definitely need to stop by my room,” I say and even I can hear the desperation in my voice. Peeta’s managed underwear and pants but curse those damn drops of water! It wouldn’t take me _that_ long to suck them off. Just a few seconds. We wouldn’t be any later than we already are _and_ it would keep him from getting his shirt wet.

I get caught salivating and he leans down to whisper in my ear, a grin on his lips.

“I almost want to say ‘no’ and make you go to dinner like that. Bare pussy slowly getting wetter beneath the table as you think about my fingers and my tongue and all the things I would do to you if only we were alone…”

“Peeta, we could skip dinner,” I plead and grab hold of his arms to keep from throwing myself on the bed at his mercy.

“But we still need to eat something, Katniss.” I’m about to suggest we order in, but my desire to have Peeta to myself is selfish. He deserves a dinner to celebrate with his friends who traveled so far to be here with him. I’ve just rediscovered my resolve when he almost burns it back down to the roots. “I want you to ride me later tonight...wearing just that shirt.”

“Finish getting dressed or that’ll happen sooner than you think,” I warn and step out of his reach to find my shoes.

“Is that supposed to convince me to leave this room?” he says, pulling a shirt onto his body. Stupid shirt.

“Your friends want to celebrate with you,” I remind him as we both get our boots back on. When we’re done, he steps close and starts kissing my neck. I tip my head to the side because I can’t really deny him.

“Do I have to?” He makes a pathetic whining noise that makes me laugh and push his shoulders. It doesn’t take much to move him, and he’s smiling as he kisses my lips once then takes my hand in his to lead me into the hallway.

“I feel naked,” I mutter and hide behind him. He chuckles but let’s me hide, asks me where my room is. I know I’m walking oddly but I can’t help it. I am not used to walking around with no panties, especially not with those panties hidden in my pocket.

We manage to make it to my room without incident, but instead of putting on a new shirt, I find a tank top to wear under Peeta’s shirt. A pair of fresh panties and I duck into the bathroom to change while Peeta asks if I’ve got the room to myself or if I’m sharing with Haymitch.

“Just me,” I tell him as I toss my ruined panties on my dirty laundry pile and reemerge. His eyes widen a little when he sees what I’m still wearing and I smile as I slide my hand in his. “Unless you want to sleep here with me.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Engraved and everything,” I say, and I know he’s thinking of our summer at Skadi, just like I am. “I don’t want to miss out on a single night that I could be spending with you.”

We almost miss out on dinner. But we manage to stop kissing before it gets out of hand and stumble into the hallway where we have to pretend that we’re not ready to rip each other’s clothes off at any given moment. At least we can still hold hands without making people uncomfortable.

Finnick sent a location pin to guide us to where they’re eating. Peeta and I are still holding hands when we enter the restaurant and find Finnick, Johanna, and Darius at a large table with four empty chairs and dirty dishes that indicate they’ve already eaten something. An appetizer perhaps. Peeta squeezes my hand just as the trio spots us. I don’t get a chance to wonder where Haymitch is before they all hold up pieces of paper with numbers written on them.

**_9.8_ **

**_9.5_ **

**_8.2_ **

It takes me a moment to realize what they mean and when it clicks, I scowl at Darius’ number.

“Eight point two? That’s it?” I ask and for a second, I think Peeta’s going to choke on his own tongue. If they’re going to rate our performance, though, we at least deserve nines across the board.

“I get hangry. Don’t piss off your judges,” Darius teases.

“Where’s Haymitch?” Peeta asks, looking around nervously.

“At the bar with Chaff,” Johanna tells him. “Oh here he comes now.”

“Speaking of coming,” Finnick begins and Peeta stops him from finishing that thought.

“Talk all the shit you want to just me, but Haymitch is basically Katniss’ father. And he’s actually a decent parent, so not in front of him. Okay?”

“Is that for your safety or his comfort?” Finnick asks, resting his chin on steepled fingers and watching us like a school principal about to dole out discipline.

“His comfort,” Peeta says. “Mostly.” He stares down his friends as my heart melts and Haymitch gets closer. I stand on my toes and press a soft kiss to Peeta’s cheek.

“Fine,” Johanna agrees and the two boys give her petulant looks, but some sort of silent agreement happens and Finnick nods.

“That gives them more time to think up ways to harass us,” I whisper to Peeta as he helps me with my coat.

“Would you rather they have free reign in front of Haymitch?” he whispers back and Finnick sputters and laughs.

I can’t figure out why until I sit down and a bite of cool air on my shoulder reminds me that I’m still wearing Peeta’s shirt. Maybe that wasn’t my brightest idea. Especially not when Haymitch sees what I’m wearing and sighs.

“Not enough alcohol to deal with this,” he mutters into his glass as he takes a drink, but there’s something unusual in his eyes, and I think he’s trying not to smile. “I ordered for you two idiots. You don’t get to complain since you kept the rest of us waiting.”

Someone across the table snorts and Peeta glares at them before turning to Haymitch. “I’m sure whatever you ordered will be great.”

“Is that sarcasm, Cupcake?” Haymitch asks and Peeta’s cheeks turn pink. Now it’s my turn to glare at Haymitch.

“No, sir,” Peeta says.

“Sir?” Haymitch asks, incredulous, and Darius chokes on his water. Before Haymitch can lay into Peeta or make him do pushups at the table, our food arrives, providing a distraction. Thankfully, Chaff leads off the conversation in a different direction.

It’s actually a pleasant dinner, and even though Peeta’s friends’ eyes gleam with impatience, they actually behave themselves for the most part. Talk meanders from Peeta’s race to other sports. Finnick mentions that he and Annie will be in Korea to see Peeta compete in the Paralympics. While that comforts me a little, I still wish I could be there too.

Johanna’s even able to draw Haymitch into the conversation, asking him first about New Mexico and Arizona, where they’ve both apparently lived, and then other places he’s been. They somehow wind up talking tattoos, which I never knew Haymitch had, but apparently he does.

A few childhood stories get shared and the entire table is smiling and feeling relaxed. It’s strange to be viewing our past with such a happy filter for once, but I guess that’s the point. Not all of it was awful. Most of it was actually wonderful.

As evidenced by the tears of laughter in everyone’s eyes as Peeta winds down telling them about the time Ryen, Peeta, and I snuck a lemon meringue pie out of the restaurant because Graham had gotten them in trouble and they’d lost dessert for a week as part of their punishment. Stealing the pie was an adventure in itself but the best part came after, when we tried to eat the whole thing in one sitting because there wasn’t a fridge we could hide it in and Ryen insisted that eating it was the only way to hide the evidence of our crime.

“We’re all stuffed and a little green in the face and in walks Graham to tell us he’s got a date and we better not make him look bad.”

“Again,” I interject because that’s how Ryen and Peeta got in trouble in the first place.

“Yes, again. Ryen starts moaning and rolling on the floor, claiming he’s got a stomach bug and he’s dying and Graham will regret being an insufferable prick when his beloved brother is dead, and I’m trying to slip the pie under Ryen’s bed to hide it, but there’s all kinds of junk and dust there already. Katniss says she’s just gonna sneak past him with it and hide in my room. So she grabs the thing and makes a break for the door...just as Graham decides he’s had enough and leaves. They run smack into each other and pie! All over Graham’s shirt!”

“Oh he was so mad. He spent an hour deciding which shirt to wear,” I say through my laughter.

“And somehow, not a speck of pie got on Katniss,” Haymitch says and I look over, a little surprised that he knows the ending. I don’t remember him being there for that. Maybe Gramps or my father told him.

“Wait how’d that happen?” Chaff asks. “You didn’t pie him on purpose did you, Katniss?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I mutter before taking a bite of my food. There’s a beat of silence and then Johanna cackling in laughter and the others right behind.

“I feel kind of bad for Graham,” Finnick says and I shake my head.

“Don’t. Pretty sure we helped him find his wife with that pie fiasco. Wasn’t that the night he had a date with Penelope Carpenter?” I ask and Peeta nods.

“It was.”

“Wait wait,” Johanna chimes in, “I thought his wife was named Savannah.”

“She is. Penelope and Graham didn’t get along very well, partly because he wasn’t in the best mood after getting pie to the shirt,” Peeta explains with a cringe. “She called him a stuck up, arrogant doof, but for whatever reason, Penelope set him up on a blind date, thinking maybe her cousin Savannah might like him better.”

“As long as he kept his mouth shut,” I add and Peeta chuckles.

“Which he apparently managed somehow.”

“And the rest is history,” Finnick finishes the story. The light mood continues for some time and the food slowly disappears.

“So how’d you wind up with the name Hummingbird?” Darius asks me at one point.

Peeta’s hand squeezes mine beneath the table. We haven’t let go this whole time, and I’m grateful for the connection now.

“I prefer ‘Brainless’ for her, personally,” Johanna says, with a smirk and I send one back across the table at her.

“Because she couldn’t sit still in the house,” Haymitch explains, surprising me again. “Always wanted to be outdoors, here and there all over the mountains. Then when she started skiing and already had the name, it was easy to say she skied fast as a hummingbird. Almost uncatchable.”

“Something I always wondered,” Finnick says thoughtfully. “Do hummingbirds sing?”

“Some of them do, but it’s more like a chirp or a twitter. You could Google it,” I answer before I see the trap.

“What about you, Katniss?” Darius asks innocently. “Do you sing?”

“Bet she’s a hell of a hummer,” Johanna mutters under her breath and my cheeks burn as Peeta tries to shut them up with his eyes.

Haymitch coughs loudly and either ignores Johanna or doesn’t hear her, and the conversation continues. Shortly after that, Finnick asks the waitress for the dessert menu.

“I think the rest of us have earned something sweet, don’t you, Peeta? Since you’ve already had your dessert,” he says with an obnoxious wink. The waitress says she’ll be right back with the menu and disappears before Finnick can go any further with his innuendos.

Haymitch stands and tells us he’s done for the night, but it was a pleasure meeting Peeta’s friends.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he admonishes Peeta and I, pointing to us in turn and reminding us of what tomorrow brings. “Qualifying. Flight to Korea. Get some decent sleep.”

“We will, Old Man,” I say and he squeezes my shoulder before departing with Chaff, the two of them still talking.

“We could escape now,” Peeta whispers as the dessert menu arrives and I glance at each of his friends while they’re distracted.

“I kind of want dessert,” I tell him. “Besides, whatever they dish out, you and I can handle it together, right?”

His eyes follow mine to where his friends peruse their options and he cringes. “I’d like to apologize now for my asshole friends and remind you that I love you and would like to spend the rest of my life loving you.”

I chuckle a little and kiss his cheek. How bad could it be? “I love you, too Peeta.”

Not that bad. At first.

Finnick talks us all into sharing a massive dessert, baked Alaska, that apparently gets set on fire right at your table — “Won’t be the only flash fire tonight.”

And a round of Irish coffee — “Extra whiskey. For _lubrication_ ,” Johanna requests.

Then I think we might be in the clear until the waitress stops by to refill water glasses while we wait and Finnick holds his out for her. “More...more... _more_!” he says and my face heats at the erotic tone he gives the words. The waitress looks at him like he’s insane but Finnick then smiles like nothing untoward happened and asks her how her evening is going. They chat for a moment, but she quickly leaves when another table tries to catch her attention.

The other two seem to take their cues from Finnick, and while for the most part it looks like we’re having a lovely evening with friendly conversation, it’s punctuated with outbursts of sexual jabs at me and Peeta. I can only be thankful that the restaurant has thinned out a little and there are no longer any children present.

“Peeta, could you pass the sugar?” Johanna asks and then as he reaches for it, her lips curl in a wicked smile and she moans. “Yes, Peeta, please!”

I almost bolt with Peeta when he once more suggests we leave after that, but I’m annoyed with the challenge in Johanna’s eyes. Like this is some kind of test to prove that I deserve this chance with Peeta. Besides, they’re not doing it to be mean. I get the distinct feeling that they’re happy for Peeta, and not just because of the race today. It makes me wonder about those ex-girlfriends of his and some of the things Finnick said today. Surely his friends know about some of the girls Peeta dated through the years. I find myself suddenly curious about them and how I measure up in the eyes of his friends. Not that it matters. But I don’t want his friends to hate me.

Our few remaining table neighbors begin to look at us oddly and the waitress is clearly nervous when she brings plates and tells us our dessert is on its way out.

“Fuck yes!” Finnick shouts, slamming his hand on the table. I catch him whispering something to her when the dessert arrives and everyone else is distracted by the flames. When he finishes, she’s smiling and nodding.

What does he plan to do? Tell the entire restaurant?

When the flames are extinguished and the waitress is working on slicing up the dessert to distribute, Darius starts tapping the table. Just one finger at first, but eventually he’s smacking his entire palm on the table. Finnick and Johanna join in, the pounding getting louder and faster. I turn my face away and hide it on Peeta’s shoulder as I hear the similarities in sound. Peeta tries ineffectually to get them to stop, but as a plate heaped with the dessert appears in front of me, the three reach the crescendo and all shout.

“Peeta!” Then they laugh hysterically while Peeta apologizes to me again.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Finnick announces to the entire dining room and stands with his glass. “A toast! To my good friend Peeta Mellark, who is today’s big winner in every way!”

“You’re gonna pay for this, you know. I’ve got eight months to plan a wedding toast,” Peeta says but Finnick only winks at him and keeps going. I squeeze Peeta’s hand so he knows that I can handle this. Finnick talks briefly about the race and how it’s Peeta’s first time placing first this season and how he’ll soon be on his way to Korea for the Paralympics. It’s short and actually sweet. A few people applaud as Finnick wraps it up.

Then Johanna opens her mouth. “And he had a slam bang finish too!”

Peeta’s face is red, and I lean over to kiss his cheek as everyone around us returns to their meal, my body shaking with laughter. When I pull back, he’s staring at me.

“You’re laughing,” Peeta whispers, surprise in his gaze.

“I think they're jealous,” I say with a shrug. Peeta’s smile is slow and so are his eyes as they look me over. I can guess at what he sees. Me, happy and flushed with laughter, his shirt sliding off my shoulder, and I hope, a promise in my eyes.

“Eat fast,” he says and the rest of their ribbing is easy to take. The dessert and the sweet taste of Peeta’s victory helps. I’m relaxed and happy and my cheeks ache from smiling and laughing so much and all I can think is that I should have told him that I love him sooner. Fear seems so foolish at times like these.

Peeta tries to pay for dinner, but his friends adamantly refuse. They insist that the entire meal is on the three of them.

“Consider it payment for great entertainment,” Finnick says with a grin as he shoves Peeta’s hand away from the bill.

It’s even easy to deal with the knowing looks and the suggestions Johanna makes to our table neighbors that they might want to sleep with earplugs in tonight. Darius’ comments about recharging for round two don’t seem so bad either when Peeta and I stand to leave before the rest of them, claiming exhaustion after such a long day.

We make a quick stop in his room to make sure he has everything he needs for tonight and maybe part of tomorrow morning, and then we return to mine. Haymitch wants us to sleep, but I know that we won’t be. At least not right away.

I brush my teeth and strip down to panties and Peeta’s shirt, hugging the soft fabric to my body as I slide beneath the covers and wait for him to remove his prosthesis and join me. He does so with a sigh, leaving the lamps on and tracing one finger down the side of my face.

“Still feels like a dream,” he murmurs and I shake my head.

“Why do you keep saying that?” I whisper, almost afraid of stirring up more memories of pain for either of us, but knowing now that it needs to be dealt with. I know that I’m right to be afraid too when he takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“I told you that some of the pain meds they put me on messed with my head. Sometimes I’d see things that weren’t there. Other times it’d be hearing things. Everything was so confusing when I woke up. Mom telling me some of the same things that she’d been saying for years about you but that I’d always brushed off and ignored or sometimes argued with her over, because I knew you better than that. And when they switched the meds around and Mom kept talking and talking, it got harder to tell myself she was wrong. Especially after you left, and I know that’s not your fault. It’s just… She was talking louder and longer than anyone else and it took me a long time after the divorce to find a way to block her out.

“Then...I don’t know. It’s like when Ryen told me he’d seen her and talked to her, some kind of switch flipped in my brain. Everything happened so fast. I saw you with Gale and I thought...how could she possibly want me when she’s got him? I’m just a one legged, washed up snowboarder. It started to feel like I was back in that hospital, or in the years afterwards, trying to figure out what was real and what was lies. I thought maybe I was just a guilt you felt you needed to atone for. And then I was just a peg to fill a hole until he came back. That maybe he came back early and that’s why you two were fighting. In the moment, it didn’t matter that I knew you better than that, because there was the chance that maybe I was wrong. I didn’t know what to think, all I knew was that it hurt.”

“And I didn’t help much,” I say and duck my gaze to hide from the truth I know I’ll see in his eyes. I blubbered over Gale and lost friendship and my own pain when Peeta was slipping away from me right in front of my eyes.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have run so far.”

“Or maybe you needed to,” I say and manage to meet his eyes again. Peeta laces our fingers together. I’m oddly reminded of the nights we spent in The Locker almost a year ago. I shared so much with Peeta back then, and he with I. It’s almost comforting to think of those nights. With them in mind, I find the courage to try to speak of things I’ve kept inside for years.

“I wasn’t waiting for him to get back. I never was,” I try to explain and I feel like I’m stumbling all over the words. This should be easy after the hurdle we surmounted earlier tonight. But everything comes out in a messy jumble. Peeta listens as I do exactly as Prim suggested. I share the good, and the bad. Gale, Luke. Explanations about how for so long, Gale was the only person I could call my friend without the complicated mess of him also being family or connected to the pain of the past.

I tell Peeta about Gale taking care of his family and how it was so like how I felt about Prim that sometimes it seemed like Gale was the only person in my world at the time who could understand even a piece of me. Add to that the complicated fabric that is our shared ethnicity and the expectations on how we both should be leading our lives, protecting and passing on a threatened heritage, and it weaves a tale of a girl and a boy who leaned on each other to survive in some ways, but the trade was never even because I never allowed it to be. There was always a part of me that I reserved for myself. Could never give to Gale.

How tongue-tied I sometimes get, how fear sometimes chokes words from my throat because it’s easier to not speak of it than it is to face it. How often I felt that I fell short of so many expectations when I was with Gale. How he wanted answers I couldn’t give him, at least not in the moments when he was asking for them. Not when what I really needed was time to figure it all out.

“Maybe I gave him false hope, I don’t know. I told him that maybe things could be different after the Olympics. That maybe I could be different. But when he showed up on my doorstep, I wasn’t expecting him. I thought...it was my old friend I thought maybe I could reclaim. The rest was...already gone or maybe it was never even really there. I’m not sure he was ever my friend without expecting more from me that I couldn’t give. Whatever it was or could have been, I’ve let it go.”

Peeta nods, and traces my fingers with the tips of his. All my attention focuses in on him and my pulse starts pounding a steady loud beat in my ears as he absorbs all that I’ve told him.

“Say something?” I ask when I can’t take it anymore.

“I’m not sure what to say. It’s a lot to take in. So you didn’t want to…”

“Get back together with him?” Peeta nods again and swallows, his blue eyes meeting mine. Warm and patient. “No. I wanted a kind of friendship that I thought existed but now I’m not sure it ever did. At least not with him.”

“Okay,” Peeta says softly and I cannot believe it’s that easy.

“Okay?” I ask incredulously and he looks down at our joined hands with a soft smile.

“If he’s your friend and you want to fix that, then you should try. I won’t ask you not to. I’ll admit I was hurt and confused for awhile there. I could barely bring myself to answer when you called, but I promised you I would, and I thought I should at least try to be your friend. It felt wrong to turn my back on you completely. Then I started to think...You got on a plane and came after me. I started to hope again. Just a little, but when you said you’d bought the tickets weeks ago, well I thought that meant there was no way you were really here for me. You didn’t have much of a choice, you didn’t really want to be here, I was just a debt to be paid, a source of guilt. You’d rather be with him. The list of reasons seemed endless and none of them was the one I wanted the most and all of them just sort of got mixed up in this haze in my head. Those ex girlfriends I told you about…”

“The ones who were never quite right? Just filling a temporary need? Is that your polite way of saying you used them for sex?” I tease, because I can’t imagine Peeta doing that, and he blushes.

“Well at least one of them falls into that category but that was a mutual using of each other. The others were more...we tried to make something but it always fell short. Does that make sense?”

“Something missing,” I suggest and he nods.

“I thought maybe I had it all wrong, you and me. That I was repeating the same mistakes I did with them, only this time, I was already too deeply in love with you to see the mistakes on my own. Thinking that I was alone in feeling that way, that I’d been wrong about you...well it was excruciating.” I burrow closer to him and slide my leg over his to draw him closer still. “I spent so long trying to purge the things she did to my head that I didn’t even realize the voice that was feeding my doubts was hers until you called me out on it. I was trying to avoid you here, thinking it’d help me focus better because not feeling anything worked for you once...even then, you didn’t leave and kept trying to reach me. Which is a lot more than I did ten years ago. I should have--”

I press my lips to his and stop the words before they even come between us. When I pull back, he remains silent. “I guess I’ll just have to speak louder than the voice in your head. As long as you’ll speak louder than the one in mine.”

“Katniss, I’m so sorry. That’s so much to ask of you. I’m a real mess.”

“I don’t care. So am I.”

“Yeah, maybe a little,” he says with a wry smile. Our fingers twist together and his eyes take on an intense look, almost like the one he gets when he’s working out a problem or minute detail on a board or set of skis. “I was going to Colorado to talk to you about Ryen seeing Mom and so much more.”

“And then Gale messed that up,” I say and he nods. “I should have told you that I saw her, too. It’s like I said, though. We already get so little time together that I didn’t want to waste a second of it on her, on hurting you, if I could help it.”

“She hurt you too, Katniss,” he whispers and I understand now what he meant when he said we could deal with it better together.

“More than I’d originally thought. She’s a real piece of work, isn’t she?” I ask and Peeta laughs.

“And that’s honestly something I wanted to talk to you about, figuring out a way for us to be together more often.”

“Was it?” Something flutters in my heart and tears start to form at the corners of my eyes, but with his arms around me, I’m not afraid to look past the finish line. “Peeta,” I murmur softly. “I hate this being apart all the time. I’m tired of being away from home.”

“Just a little longer. You’ve gotta show the world exactly what you’re capable of first,” he says and thumbs at the corner of my mouth. “I for one, can’t wait to see what you do. And then you’ll be back in Colorado before you know it.”

“No,” I say and he jerks his head back as I shake mine. “I didn’t mean Colorado.”

“Then what did you…” He trails off and stares at me as I work up the nerve to spit out the words.

“I meant you. Skadi. Wyoming.” Peeta swallows heavily and I can see in his eyes, he’s not sure that he can believe me. I kiss the tip of his chin. “I’ve been thinking about moving back home after this season. What do you think?”

“What do I think?” he asks and then he laughs and buries his face in my chest.

“Peeta this isn’t—“ I squeal as he flips us so he’s hovering over me and kissing my neck. My ears.

“I was gonna tell you when I came to Colorado. I started looking at places to move Skadi Skis, found a few options not too far from your apartment. Even looked at one before I headed your way a few days ago.” My eyes widen and I shake my head. “Nothing is set yet. I’d find my own place to live, but—“

I stop his words with a kiss. I try to tell him how much it means to me that he would do that and when he lifts his head, I shake mine in denial. He looks almost crushed for a second.

“That’s ridiculous, Peeta. There’s no reason for you to pick up and move to Colorado Springs unless you’d rather live there.”

“I told you, I want to be with you. And you’ve got—“

“Prim?” I say and he nods. “She’s graduating in May. I have no idea where she’ll find a job. She doesn’t need me anymore. I don’t think she’s needed me for years. And...I’ve been away from home long enough.”

“So you’re sure about this…”

“I am now. I’m moving back to Wyoming after this season is over,” I tell him and as soon as I say the words, I know it’s exactly what I want. What I need. He doesn’t look quite convinced though.

“Your job. At the country club.”

“I’ve still got others to tide me over for a bit. Besides, I think I can find something at Skadi. I’m on pretty good terms with the owner, after all,” I tease and he grins, his hands sliding down to my hips, wedging between me and the bed to cup my ass and squeeze.

“I’m not supposed to show preference in hiring,” he teases back as I push him so he rolls onto his back, taking me too so I’m sprawled over him.

“At least let me show you my resume.” I kiss over his chest as he plays with my hair and sighs happily. He twirls locks of hair around his fingers, the soft tugs on my scalp send frissons down my spine, more relaxing rather than arousing as I trace my tongue around one of his nipples. I give it an experimental bite. He moans and I feel his cock twitch against my belly. I move to the other side and repeat the whole thing and as my teeth close around the hardened bit of flesh, Peeta gasps out two words.

“You’re hired.”

I snap my head up to glare at him. “You better not let anyone else apply this way,” I snarl and he laughs, shakes his head.

“Only you, Katniss,” he says as we carefully remove panties and shorts. Find a condom and get it on him. He kisses me and says it again as my fingers dig into his biceps and his cock fills me to overflowing. “Only you.”

I roll my hips over him and brush his hair back from his eyes as heat builds beneath the blankets. I hold his face in my hands and watch his eyes flicker between desire, love, and wonder. There are soft kisses and whispered words that may have once frightened me. Tonight they make me feel strong.

I keep the shirt on like he wanted me to and his hands caress my body beneath the soft fabric. We’re in no hurry this time. No one waiting for us and even though I have a plane to catch tomorrow, I’m not afraid to leave him this time. There’s a tether between us, something invisible and yet unbreakable. I imagine it’s the cause of the tug in my gut when Peeta’s hands push me upright then slide down to keep my hips moving over him.

“I want to see all of you,” he whispers. “Just for a little while.”

I don’t stop, instead watch his mouth drop open and his eyes taking in everything as we move together. I try to keep it slow, but I can feel bliss tingling in my toes and quicken my pace. Faster until I can’t keep it up and fall back onto his chest and our foreheads meet. His hands caress and grip and drive my hips to continue this punishing pace, my lip caught between my teeth to contain the squeaking moans I make as he whispers to me.

“Don’t close your eyes, Katniss. I want to watch it when you come.”

I nod and brace my hands on the wall over our heads, lifting myself just enough so that I can stay focused on his eyes, on the feelings inside me as our bodies dance. Dance and writhe and bounce together until I can feel a cramp forming in my leg and a release building in my core. I move faster, harder, risking the cramp to touch the sky. I fly apart at the seams first and lose sense of direction and control except to keep my eyes open for him as I ride it out in short, choppy thrusts and heat consumes me, melts me into bliss.

“I love you so fucking much,” Peeta whispers as he arches up and our mouths slant together in a frantic kiss. His fingers dig into my hips and keep me in motion, unrelenting as we breathe through noses and my hands take handfuls of his hair and cling to the tether it provides. His moans fill my mouth until one makes our teeth rattle and he holds me still, his touch biting and wonderful as he comes and moans, the sound delicious on my tongue.

When Peeta goes limp on the bed, the cramp surges back up and I massage my leg, whine to him about it and then his hand takes over, kneading flesh as I stretch it and soon, the pain fades into a memory. I stretch out over his chest and sigh as his fingers twirl in my hair again. And if it weren’t for the heavy, post orgasm feeling in my limbs, and the relaxed joy of making love to Peeta that fills the rest of me, I’d almost be fooled into thinking it was all a dream.

“Only you, Katniss,” he whispers and I slip into real dreams.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, I dream of one of the lakes back home. The place where my father taught me how to swim. Late summer hikes often ended with a dip in those cool, grey waters. Tonight, I dream that I am submerged beneath them. I spread my limbs and relax my body, watch bubbles of my breath as they ascend towards an azure summer sky and break at the surface. The force of the water slowly pushes me up and when I surface in my dream, I wake in real life, still with the buoyant feeling of floating.

The lamps are still on, and as I blink, the first thing I see is Peeta’s hand twined with mine. For some reason, the sight combined with his heat blanketing my back and his even, sleepy breaths caressing my ear makes me smile. I lay there and enjoy this feeling of content for as long as possible before need has me scurrying to the bathroom, holding his shirt down over my bare ass and hissing at the cold air on my skin.

When I return, I make a cursory search for my panties but quickly give up and reach to turn out the lights. I pause with my hand on the switch, my gaze drawn to Peeta’s face as he sleeps. So peaceful. He’s moved while I was out of bed, sprawled on his stomach and filling the spot that I vacated. I wonder what he dreams about at night and instead of turning off the light, I slide beneath the covers and bite my lip when I find him still naked. Shiver in delight as my chilled skin meets his warmth.

He makes a noise in his sleep as I drape myself over him and nuzzle his ear. I let my hands roam and catalogue each unconscious response of his body to my touch, to my lips as I graze them down his neck. How am I supposed to resist this temptation, after all? After all the nights I spent traveling across Europe and wishing I could have this. Just this. With him. Maybe I’ve known all along what I want after the finish line and have just been too afraid to voice it. Afraid that claiming it out loud might precede it being snatched from my grasp once again. But fear can be used to make you brave.

“Katniss?” he murmurs and I kiss his cheek in answer. He turns his head enough to peer at me and seems dazed at first.

“Right here,” I whisper and he takes a deep, sleepy breath before rolling beneath me so that now I’m laid out across his chest. I tuck my knees into his sides, embracing him and borrowing warmth all at once.

“Mmmm...I used to dream about this,” he says with a smile that makes my heart flutter in my chest. His eyes remain mostly closed as his fingers trace up my legs to my hips, tickling and rousing. “Waking up with you on top of me. And no panties...even better.”

“Why is it ‘used to dream?’” I ask and prop my head up on one hand near my ear.

“Real thing is a hundred times better,” he says and tugs my hips down so I can feel his hard cock against the cleft of my ass.

“We should probably get back to sleep,” I remind him but wiggle in his embrace anyways.

“Probably. We’re awake now, though.”

“Don’t want to waste precious time,” I agree and his smile widens for just a second before he pulls me down to him in a long kiss. I’m almost dizzy with disbelief at what this has survived. What we’ve overcome to reach this point where words spill so freely from my mouth into his, and surely that’s the reason I am stupid and ask the next thing that slips into the night between us.

“What sort of bimbos did you date while I was gone?”

“What?” he asks and almost half laughs as I try to roll away in embarrassment. He doesn’t let me, and I’m actually glad that he doesn’t when he runs a hand over my hair, down the side of my face to my shoulder. “Katniss, you can ask me anything. You know that, right?”

I nod and stare down at him. He keeps saying that they were all wrong, that they’re long gone, but I seriously doubt that in ten years apart, Peeta couldn’t make a single girl fall head over heels, madly in love with him. Maybe I’m biased, but if Gale came knocking on my door after more than two years of silence and the mess that we created out of our relationship, I guess I find it hard to believe that something similar won’t happen with Peeta.

“The beach bunnies. Were their brains so sun fried that they didn’t realize what they could’ve had with you?”

He groans and turns his head from side to side. “Are we really gonna dredge up my messy dating history?”

“Yes,” I say indignantly and sit upright to cross my arms over my chest and scowl down at him. “We’ve dredged up mine, now it’s your turn.”

“I already told you that whatever was there wasn’t gonna last and is long since dead,” he reminds me.

“Well excuse me if I have a hard time believing that every girl in both California and Wyoming is dumb enough to not see how kind and thoughtful and generous and sexy and amazing you are.” He stares up at me as I scowl down at his stunned expression and I’m certain that I’ve found the truth. That there had to be at least one.

“Call me ‘sexy and amazing’ again,” he whispers and then jumps when I pinch his nipples.

“I’m serious, Peeta! I’ll ask Ryen and Finnick if you don’t tell me!”

“Alright, alright! I yield!” he grabs my hands and holds my arms wide so I can’t pinch him. I sit still as a stone above him as he licks his lips and then very gently places my hands back on his chest, where I can feel his heart beating beneath my palms as he talks.

One to forget, he tells me. A girl he knew from the start he would never fall in love with and who would never fall in love with him either. Really that relationship was strictly physical anyways, he assures me. Mutually beneficial in only one way. One to forget the things he wanted with me and thought were lost forever because I’d left. I can barely stand the thought that Peeta’s first time was with someone who was using him and not someone who adored him.

“Stop, Katniss,” he says, drawing me back from the guilt threatening to drag me under.

“How can I not, Peeta? If I hadn’t deleted those messages, then it would’ve been me.”

“That sounds a lot like a ‘could have been,’” he says and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty, Katniss. I guess I’m just trying to explain what was in my head at the time.”

I nod and he keeps going. A few stuttered and doomed relationships that never lasted long. At first, I want to ask him for names, to make a list to remember in case one of them resurfaces the way Gale did, but then he mentions one by name and I can tell in the tone of his voice that this is the one I should fear.

A friend turned physical stress relief turned accidental relationship. I can’t meet his eyes as he talks about her. I wanted this, I remind myself as I listen and hear just how close I was to losing him forever without even realizing it.

There are a few more after her, this girl named Lavinia that I’ll probably never know, but somehow I know that she’s his Gale. Maybe not exactly the same, but the one who could have been more. Could have lasted if things had gone differently. I blink and shift uncomfortably and his hands slide up and down my arms, chasing away the new chills.

“Maybe the real problem is that I didn’t need a beach bunny. I needed a snow bunny.” His words take a second to sink in, but when they do, my eyes snap open and meet his laughing blue ones.

“I am _not_ a snow bunny,” I protest and attack his ribs to tickle him. He squirms and laughs, gets ahold of my wrists again and flips us over. I blink up into his eyes as he hovers over me.

“Not bad for a guy with one leg, huh?” he asks and I laugh, give an experimental wriggle and discover that he’s got me securely pinned.

Suddenly I am humming with need, my core aching and growing wet. But I can’t go down without a fight and taunt him. “If anyone is a snow bunny in this relationship, it’s you.”

“Oh? How do you figure that? Of the two of us, you’re the one caught in the trap.”

“Maybe I’m exactly where I want to be and you’re the one who’s caught,” I smirk up at the flash of surprise on his face and then relax under his hold. “You’re the soft and sweet one. I am most certainly not. Also, you snowboarders do that cute little hop thing to turn your boards and I carry a rifle. So that makes you the real snow bunny.”

I squeal as he releases my wrists and sucks on my neck, his hands pushing my thighs open, although that doesn’t take much effort on his part. His hips press down into mine, his cock not yet hard but certainly on the way to it.

“Hmmm, maybe you’re right. Except I don’t feel soft right now. Hop in my lap and go for a bounce, huntress.”

I laugh and cling to his shoulders, but laughter is quick to transform to moans as his fingers delve into my folds and his lips cover my shoulders and move aside his shirt to cover my breasts in hot, demanding kisses. I meet the demands and make several of my own, whimpering when he pulls back, but than gasping when, with one hand, he flips me onto my stomach beneath him.

“Can I jump you like a bunny?” he teases and I’m laughing as I hear the sounds of foil that mean he’s putting on a condom. I don’t stop him and let fly a relieved moan as he slides his cock inside me.

“Yes, please,” I gasp as he tugs my hips up so my ass is flush with his groin and he can wedge a pillow beneath me to keep me elevated. I bite my lip and quiver beneath him. I’m thrown back to our time together in Germany and how excited I’d been to try this with him, only to have my own stupidity and mistaken jealousy interrupt us. But as he massages my ass cheeks and groans about how tight and hot I feel, something occurs to me. I glance over my shoulder at him and take in the sight of tensed muscle, poised to move the world for me.

That was a missed chance, and now we’re making up for it. And I guess that’s what I have to keep in mind in the days and years to come. Not to get lost in the things we miss out on, but to enjoy the things that we share, and know that somewhere along the road, the missed chances can either be reclaimed or will cease to matter as much. As long as we take advantage of the ones we have. As long as we don’t give up on each other.

His hand sneaks beneath me and splays on my belly as he starts to move. My mouth rounds out as the slow slide of his cock does wickedly delicious things to my body. I rest my cheek on the pillow and grip the sheets to focus on the fever taking hold of me. Peeta rests his forehead on the back of my head and pants soft words to my scalp. I’m shivering and moaning within minutes and then he starts kissing my back.

I can’t see him, but I can feel him. His breath and his words hot on my spine. His lips and hands gentle on my skin. His thighs hugging mine, his hips slapping gently into my ass, his cock inside me, drawing out sounds I didn’t even think I could make, but combined with his voice, they form the most beautiful, satisfied song. Each stroke takes him deep. So deep inside me it feels like nothing can tear us asunder. He’s a part of me and I’m a part of him. Always.

“Oh! Peeta,” I warble and my thighs shake with the force of release and my fingers ache from their grip on the cotton beneath me. “Yes!”

I’m not given time to languish in it though. His chest flattens on my back and I’m delirious with the feel of him and still he doesn’t stop. I reach behind me and grip his hair as he bites my ear and tells me that he loves me and I’m the only one for him. I’m burning when he slides his hand to grip my breast as his thrusts sharpen. My belly tightens, coiling closer to release, wrapping more of my body into the coil as the edge of euphoria spreads throughout. I stare into a dark void for a second before a scream breaks free and I stifle it in the pillow, step back from the edge and watch the lights dance across my eyes, flickering and then receding.

“Peeta,” I gasp. “I can’t.”

“Don’t hide from me, Katniss. Please don’t hide from us.”

I curse and buck beneath him, scared of how strong I know it’s going to be, but he’s right. Peeta will be there to catch me when I fall.

I focus on his voice and the feel of him deep inside me, pressed against me, caressing me. It resurges inside me, stronger than before. My spine snaps into an arch as a second release claims me, flung wide open to the edges of my being. I soak the sheets with it as his mouth finds mine and my back is bound up in tight bunches of muscle, but I can’t seem to stop coming beneath him. With him. Because I can feel that he’s right there with me in the way his thighs shake against mine and his cock pulses with my walls. I answer the moans he spreads over my tongue and the hard snaps of his hips with an accompanying squeal of my own, in time with each beat of it as it saps me of strength and thought. Everything but the feelings and the certainty.

Even after our hips stop moving, he doesn’t stop kissing me. He moves so I’m not bent awkwardly. Mouths and lips cling tight until we can no longer ignore exhaustion or the mess we’ve made of the sheets.

We lay there gasping for air and when he moves to leave me, I grab his right thigh, dig my nails in and shake my head. “No. Not yet.”

“Okay,” he says and kisses my shoulder, remains covering me, keeping me from floating off on the winter breeze.

“Fuck that was hot. I can’t move,” I say and he laughs, light and beautiful. Gradually our hearts and breaths slow. I think maybe he’s fallen asleep on top of me when he brushes aside some hair and whispers that he loves me to the back of my neck before kissing me and making me shiver.

“You meant it when you said you’d say it every day, didn’t you?” I ask and he freezes for just a second before he resumes kissing me.

“It’s after midnight now, so that takes care of today.”

I laugh and we manage to disentangle ourselves and rinse real quick in the shower before falling back in bed. We cuddle close together to avoid the spectacular mess on one side of the bed and I sigh happily as we lay there in the darkness. Something else creeps back through the shadows, though.

“Peeta…”

“Thought you wanted to sleep.”

“I do, it’s just...Prim.” He’s silent and waits for me to keep going, his fingers still caress lovingly over my shoulder and I turn my head towards where I know his face is, although I can’t see him. “She’s in love with Ryen.”

“Oh!” Peeta says and sounds almost relieved. “Sorry. I thought maybe you were having second thoughts about--”

I manage to shut him up with a kiss, although it’s only on half of his mouth because apparently my aim is not so good in the pitch black dark after three rounds of vigorous sex.

“As much as I love it when you kiss me out of the blue,” he teases, “I’d like to finish a sentence every now and then.

“Nope,” I say simply. “If it sounds like a doubt, I’m going to just kiss it off your lips.”

“Interesting therapy idea,” he says and then his arms tighten around me. “I approve.”

“Thought you might,” I say and then refocus what I was saying. “Now about my sister and your brother…”

“You want me to warn him to stay away?” Peeta asks and there’s something almost sad in his voice.

“No,” I say carefully and he sucks in a breath. “I’m not sure.”

“Then...maybe we should let them figure it out,” Peeta whispers. I hate doing that. I hate the thought of leaving it to chance. What kind of sister would I be if I let her do this and she winds up broken hearted? But really, what say do I have in how she lives her life? “If it helps any, he’s been acting...different.”

“Different how?” I say and Peeta sighs.

“I’m not sure how to explain it. More reliable, I guess? When we were kids, we were kind of close, remember? I mean, we drove each other nuts but no one was allowed to make fun of me or hurt me but Ryen. And the same for him. Then after the accident it was like he wasn’t sure how to act around me. None of them were, really. He got me to TAS but then we just, I dunno, drifted apart. It wasn’t just me either. We rarely knew where he was or what he was up to on any given day. He almost stopped calling Gramps from the road. He couldn’t even mention Graham or Dad without sounding annoyed, and talking about Mom was completely off the table. But lately, I don’t know...it’s like I’ve gotten my brother back too.”

“And you think it’s because of Prim?” I ask and Peeta shrugs, a yawn preventing him from answering right away.

“I don’t know. It might be, at least partly. He sometimes talks about her the way I talk about you.”

I can’t get that out of my head as he falls asleep, leaving me with my thoughts and concerns. Eventually I manage to sleep and when I wake up, it’s to Peeta’s soft kisses and smiling face, his hair mussed up in that oh so sexy way and I can’t resist. I don’t even try.

It’s much later, when we collapse back on the sheets, glistening with sweat and smiling in satisfaction, that the reality hits. I roll on top of him, as if that will keep him from slipping through my fingers again.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” he reassures me between frantic kisses that eventually make him laugh. “No really, Katniss. As much as I want to, I can’t go for another round.”

“Are you sure?” I purr as my hand grazes his cock.

“You get to sleep on a plane later. I have qualifying,” he reminds me with a half smile on his lips. He somehow gets the upper hand and I’m once more restrained in his gentle hold with his forehead on mine and his face twisted in grief. “But I want to leave with you today, so much.”

“You can’t,” I remind him. “You still have a race to run tomorrow.”

We both already know that he’ll probably miss the opening ceremonies. But he’ll be there for every one of my races, and really, that’s all I care about. I’m hit with another twinge of guilt over the fact that I won’t be there for his next month and manage to work my hands free to caress his face.

“I love you,” I whisper and his smile stirs my heart in ways that no one else can. “And loving you means that sometimes we have to be there in spirit and heart rather than in body.”

He nuzzles my nose with his and kisses me. So of course, that’s when my phone starts ringing. I groan and Peeta rolls one way while I go the other and wince as I reach for my phone. I’m gonna be really sore on the plane today.

“Hello?” I answer and hold the phone away as soon as her voice screeches across the line at me.

“EXPLAIN TO ME WHY THE INTERNET KNOWS MORE ABOUT MY SISTER’S LOVE LIFE THAN ME!”

I wait a second and share a guilty look with Peeta, who’s reattaching his leg and is still completely naked. When Prim doesn’t say anything else, I risk putting the phone back to my ear.

“So, Peeta and I made up,” I say and she gives an exasperated sigh.

“I figured as much, Katniss. Have you seen this kiss? It’s all over the place. People are voting on a celebrity couple name for the two of you! Gah! Why am I asking you? Of course you haven’t seen it! You lived it! And you two freaking rabbits probably haven’t left his bed since! Also, were you trying to cause an early spring in Canada?”

“Uh, not exactly,” I say and glance around the room at the mess on the bed, the strewn clothes, the tied off condoms in the wastebasket. The memories of everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. I blush and turn my back to Peeta as he heads into the bathroom. Even though I know he probably can’t hear me, I whisper. “Not trying to, but may have done that anyways. Oh my god, Prim, he learned how to say ‘I love you’ in Arapaho.”

She squeals and then asks a million questions. I try to answer them and by the time I’m done, I’m smiling so wide it hurts. She’s babbling in shared joy when a fully dressed Peeta leans over me and kisses me. I’m breathless and dazed when he lifts his head and then whispers in my ear that he has to go eat breakfast now or he’ll be late for his qualifying runs for the cross races tomorrow. I nod dumbly and he puckers his lips on my exposed neck, sucks hard enough to make me shiver and my eyes roll back in my head. My fingers grip the sheet to keep from hanging up on my sister so I can fuck my boyfriend and make him late. Then he’s gone, blowing a kiss over his shoulder at me as he slips from the room.

“Katniss?”

“Sorry. Naked. Hot. Kiss. Agh!”

That’s all I can manage and Prim laughs at me. “Should we Skype now? I mean you’ve seen my boyfriend naked. I think it’s only fair that I see yours at least once.”

“No,” I say and she laughs again while I cringe at how firm and mean I sounded. But hell no! I do not want Prim seeing Peeta’s naked ass. That fine ass and the rest of him are now mine and mine alone to enjoy naked.

I shake my head and hone in on the fact that she called Ryen her boyfriend again. “So you two are okay? Peeta and I fighting didn’t mess with anything between you and Ryen?”

“No, we’re good,” she says and then falls silent. A strange sadness hits me then.

“You didn’t get your cinnamon rolls, did you?” I ask. My brain is scrambling between what she’s told me, what I’ve seen, and what Peeta said last night about his brother, trying to find the truth between the stories.

“No, not yet,” Prim says, and although she sounds cheerful, there’s an undertone of something almost sad. “He had to leave early because there was weather moving in. Needed to get out of Colorado before he got stuck here. Weather ended up hitting further north, but better safe than sorry!”

“Oh,” I say and curl in on myself. “Oh Prim, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Maybe it was too soon for that anyways, right?”

“He’s an idiot if he doesn’t make those cinnamon rolls for you eventually,” I say and Prim chuckles.

“Maybe. But right now he’s got to focus on the Games and what he needs to do there.”

“Speaking of which,” I say and glance at the clock. I need to get moving here. I need another shower because I smell of sweat and sex. And I need to get myself packed and find some food before I have to meet up with Haymitch and get to the airport. “Where are you?”

“I’m sitting in the airport right now,” she says. Then she takes a deep breath and asks something I’m not expecting. “Katniss...how do you deal with all the attention? With everyone taking pictures and pointing video cameras at you, watching and judging your every move?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just got used to it,” I say and she sighs. I’m guessing that’s not the answer she wanted. “And it’s not all the time.”

“You just got used to it? Even when it’s about you and Peeta?”

“Okay, now I’m worried. What’s going on, Prim?”

“Nothing!” She insists and immediately backpedals. “It’s just...Ryen’s pretty well-known and if we’re together…”

“Ah,” I say as I think I finally get where she’s going with this. The thing is, I’m still new to this falling in love while other people watch thing. Right now I don’t care, but I’m sure the first time someone says something negative about us as a couple or individuals or the first time someone places Peeta romantically with anyone other than me, I will be back to caring a whole lot more. “Well I’m still figuring out how to deal with that myself. Maybe you and I can figure it out together, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, and even sounds a little relieved. “I think that’ll help.”

As much as I want to talk to her more and really hash out what’s going on with her, I’m cutting it close on time here now. “Okay. I gotta get moving here, Duck.”

“Sure thing! I’ll see you in Seattle!”

I echo the words to her and we hang up. Then I sit there, biting my nail for a moment and wondering about this whole thing with Ryen. Peeta made it almost sound like Ryen’s already in love with Prim, too. Is that even possible? He’s such a freaking player, never around one woman for very long. And my sister, if she’s anything like me or our parents, is going to need someone with a lifetime worth of love and devotion to give.

I can’t solve this puzzle in bed, so I stand and start moving. I’m right about one thing, though. I’m aching so much that I have to almost hobble in order to walk. But damn if it wasn’t worth it to have that night of no doubts and loose tongues with Peeta.

After a shower and fresh clothes, I feel oddly refreshed and insanely cheerful as I wander down to breakfast and find Haymitch waiting for me. He sits with his feet propped up on a second chair at his table.

“Well, Sweetheart?” he says and glances up at me with an arrogant smirk. I shove his feet off the chair and sit gingerly as he laughs under his breath and my cheeks heat. “Now that that crisis is dealt with, let’s talk about Nike.”

It begins to feel like a dream. One played in fast forward as I eat breakfast with Haymitch, and we go over Cressida’s plans. Haymitch has been busy and my head nearly spins with all the information. As soon as we’re done eating, it’s time to pack. I shove things in bags and realize that I should have done laundry yesterday. But when exactly would I have fit that in? I was a little busy. I’ll just have to do it in Korea.

I do manage a quick stop at the slopes to let Peeta know we’re on our way. Finnick and Johanna and Darius are holding down the stands again, laughing and talking. I catch sight of Peeta talking to another competitor and wave. He splits off and jogs towards me. Then his arms are around me and everything slows down. Just for a moment while he holds me and tells me to call him at every stop, leave a message if I have to.

“I will. Go kick their asses,” I say and tilt my head back for his kiss. It’s only a short one, but sweet as honey and exactly what I need.

Bags in the van and then the ride to the airport. There’s no more word from Prim, but we’re supposed to meet up with her in Seattle. I sleep on the plane and Haymitch lets me. He’s actually nice to me and lets me pick where we eat once we’re in the Seattle airport. We’re just ordering when Prim calls Haymitch.

He talks to her for a few minutes, his brow drawing tighter the more she talks. I’m getting worried, and it’s for good reason. “Okay, well... take that seat for now and maybe we can get on a later flight out of here and you on an earlier one so you can meet up with us before crossing….I’m not sure it’s a good idea for your first international flight to be done alone.”

She keeps talking as worry builds inside me. Then his expression clears for a second. “Say that again. About Vancouver?”

He nods and then tells her to hold on before turning his attention to me. “When’s Cupcake leave Canada? He’s going out through Vancouver, right?”

“Yeah, not until day after tomorrow, though.”

Haymitch nods and then I watch, a little stunned as he tells Prim he’ll call her right back and engages in a furious round of phone calls and text messages. I stare at him, flabbergasted at how quick and efficient he is. This is a completely different side to him than the coach who sits in lawn chairs with his feet propped up, reading or napping and only waking to throw a sarcastic comment at me. Then I realize, this is how he’s kept my athletic career on track for so long. My phone pings a few times during the flurry of activity, but I ignore it for now, too busy watching until Haymitch ends with a final call to Prim.

“Alright, Duck. You’re on the 7:20 from Denver to Vancouver--”

“Denver?” I ask and Haymitch ignores me to keep talking to her.

“--Head to a United desk when we hang up and they’ll get your boarding passes squared away. Make sure you also hand them your luggage tickets so you have a shot in hell at getting your bags. Gertrude is getting you a hotel for a few nights, call her when you land there. Peeta’s flying through Vancouver in two days. You two can join up there and we’ll see you both in Korea. You’ll miss the opening ceremonies, but it’ll get you there for everything else, okay?”

Prim talks for a few minutes and I can just make out her excited or maybe relieved tones.

“Alright. Love you, too,” Haymitch grunts and then scowls at my expression as he hangs up with Prim. “Wipe that simper off your face. It’s not dignified.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were such a softie.”

“You’re a strangely dislikable creature,” he mutters but there’s a twinkle in his gray eyes that tells me he doesn’t really mean it. This is just who we are, Haymitch and I. But I think I’m developing a new kind of appreciation for the behind the scenes work he’s done all these years.

“There’s soft serve over there. Fitting dessert for a softie,” I motion to the stand selling it and he leans to the side to eye it.

“But you do have your charms,” he says and stands to get us both dessert. He returns with two cones and then explains what’s going on with Prim. “Diverted due to a maintenance issue. They said they wouldn’t be able to get her to Seattle for another three days at the earliest.”

“So she’s flying to Vancouver and meeting up with Peeta,” I say.

“Yep.” I check my phone and sure enough, the two text messages are from Peeta, letting me know he got the messages from Haymitch and he’ll make sure Prim stays safe. I send one back to thank him.

_No problem. <3 _

**_Don’t go easy on them just to get out of there earlier. I still want you to make them eat your powder._ **

_Haha! I won’t ;)_

He answers and I blow out a relieved breath and find Haymitch watching me speculatively. “And that right there is the real test of your trust.”

“What do you mean?”

“You trust someone with Prim, you trust ‘em with everything.”

I don’t know what to say to that. But he’s right. I find a few moments of quiet and send Peeta a massive text about Cressida and the N7 deal. We have to get on the plane to Korea before I get an answer, but I somehow know that one will be waiting for me when we land. I fire off another to Prim to let her know we’re boarding and then I can’t sit still in my seat. The excitement and nerves make me jittery and Haymitch barks at me to listen to some damn music and get some sleep. I do as he orders.

Food, reading, sleep. I’m once more caught in that fast forward movie and it doesn’t stop. I know it’s not going to stop for the next two weeks when we step through security and there’s a pair waiting for us. She’s tall and lean, and tough. Half her head shaved, her remaining brown hair a straight sheet to her shoulder on one side. Intricate green vines tattooed over the visible portion of her scalp and a piece of leather woven through multiple holes in her ear in imitation of the vines. Beside her stands a man with his dark hair spiked, multiple piercings in his nose and ears and one in his eyebrows. Tattoos peek out of his collar up his neck. They’re both carrying cameras. I’m half expecting the cameras to be rifles. They look more like embedded reporters than sports reporters.

“Haymitch, Katniss,” she greets us.

“This is Cressida Malik,” Haymitch provides and she examines me with piercing hazel eyes. “And her cameraman, Mesalla.”

Haymitch explained everything to me back in Canada, but I listen as we stand by baggage claim and Cressida talks about how she wants to put together more of a documentary-biopic, following me around the Games. A quick glance at Mesalla and I see they’re already filming.

“There’s footage here that won’t be easy to get anywhere else and rather than scramble to get something together before the Games, we thought it’d be better, more impactful if we filmed you at the Games. There’s already plenty of promotional material featuring you. We’re looking for something special. Now that everyone knows your name, seeing the up close and personal journey will carry more meaning. We’ll get some filler back in the states to show your home and normal routine there as well, but for now, Katniss, just...exist. Ignore the cameras and do what you need to.”

“That sounds kind of boring,” I say and Cressida smiles.

“I’m betting that it won’t be boring at all.”

I’m not sure what to think of that, but Haymitch has returned with our luggage and I choose to help him with all the bags rather than deal with Cressida. Even though I chose to do this, I’m not sure what to think of her or of the presence of the cameras in my life.

Prim’s question for me yesterday just got a lot more prescient.

We’re loaded in vans and on our way to the Olympic Village before I even manage to get my phone turned on and when I finally do, it doesn’t stop chiming for a good two minutes as about a dozen text messages catch up to me.

Ones from Peeta, expressing enthusiasm and support over the N7 deal. I smile at his words, although I never doubted that he’d be completely behind me. But those aren’t the only ones from him.

_It’s a different day where you are so…_

_I love you_

_Also third in the cross. No world title this year._

_But there’s always next season._

_I’m blaming you for wearing me out. ;) And no, that is not a complaint._

_Prim’s afraid our luggage is going to get lost._

_I got weird looks for gate checking my board. You wanna explain to her why I did that?_

And from Prim:

_Ugh is this why you’re so grouchy all the time?_

_I feel like something crawled in my armpits and made a home_

Along with a barf face emoji that makes me laugh

_Must. Have. Shower._

_Oh! I have now been to Canada! Extra stamps for Prim’s passport!!!_

_Ooooooh! Peeta is an awesome travel buddy. He has found us the best food EVER so far._

With an appropriate emoji licking its chops.

I even have one from Ryen:

_Are they going to make it?_

I’m not sure why he’s texting me, but I let him know what Haymitch said about them missing the ceremony, but being here in time for all of our events.

_That’s what Rosie said. Just worried._

**_Me too. But she’s with Peeta so she’ll be safe_ **

He doesn’t answer and I tuck my phone in my bag, lift my head to find Cressida watching me. Contrary to what she said about ignoring the cameras, she asks me a few questions and I try to answer. It becomes clear pretty quick, though, that I don’t do well with a question and answer format.

Things become even more interesting when I check into our suite and find Bonnie and Bristel already there. Four people with their own bedrooms and a shared living space since we qualify as a sort of team, I guess. Bristel eyes the cameras, but apparently Haymitch already let them know and worked with their crews to hammer out legality issues. Since the girls will inevitably wind up being filmed with me.

It’s a day’s worth of frantic laundry and familiarizing myself with everywhere I’ll need to be, learning the ropes of the transportation they have set up and finding something to eat. A pile of passes to keep track of and a headache inducing schedule. When I mention Peeta and Prim’s flights getting scrambled and their fears that their luggage won’t make it, Bonnie drags me out shopping and my camera crew tags along. More furious texting with Ryen, of all people, who turns out to be no help except to send me Graham’s number. Since they’re about the same height and build, Graham’s able to give me an idea of what sizes Peeta might wear. Once I’ve got basic staples for them both, Bonnie and I hurry back to the Village.

Fast forward to Cressida and Mesalla and Haymitch finally leaving me alone. Then, I start unpacking, even though I’m ready to collapse. I skim through e-mails and lay out the uniform I’m supposed to wear for the opening ceremony, get the battery pack for the built in heater charging, and make a face at the ridiculous gloves. Uh...no. Sorry Mr. Lauren. I pass on that atrocity. I’m startled when Madge knocks on my door.

“Knock, knock.”

“Hey,” I say and motion for her to come in if she wants. She sits on the chair and curls her legs up to her chest.

“So, that’s gotta be intense, having a camera crew follow you around exclusively.”

“Yeah, I’m almost afraid to go pee now,” I say and she laughs. We’re used to having cameras around in a vague way when we compete, but this is a whole new level of privacy invasion. “I keep telling myself it’s for a good reason.”

“That’s what matters, right? That it means something to you.”

“And others,” I say with a shrug. I’m not sure how to talk to Madge anymore and it feels almost...strange. I hadn’t realized that we’d actually developed a type of closeness in the months on the road. Not until now when I think about how long it’s been since we’ve talked. So much has happened in the past few months. I toss aside the clothes I was dealing with and flop on the bed. I could go for a nap, but I’m thinking girl talk, as much as I hate it, is a better idea right now. So we don’t lose what little magic we had on our team before all the coverage. “What about you? Have you had press insanity on your end?”

“Oh not really,” she waves it off. “Maybe some local interest since my dad’s the town mayor but outside of Lowell, Massachusetts, no one really cares about me. Well...there might be a few people in Michigan who care.”

“Who’s in Michigan? Family?” I ask.

“My grandparents still live there,” she says and smiles at me. Something cold trickles down my spine and I’m not sure what to say. I don’t exactly have fond memories of Michigan.

“You know, it was really weird reading the previews. I mean, I was just so excited to be coming here that I’ve been gobbling up everything I could get my hands on, but that piece on you and the Mellarks…”

“I can’t seem to escape that,” I say and pick at a hangnail on my finger. I feel awful. I didn’t read anything else in that magazine except what was focused on me. I don’t even know if they covered Madge and how this is her first season in the big leagues and here she is at the Olympics.

“Well it was quite the story. Caught my attention. But what I’m really curious about is your mother.” That catches me off guard and I glance up at Madge. She takes the opening to keep talking. “When I was little, my mother used to tell these fantastic stories about three girls growing up in Michigan and their adventures. They sounded almost like fairy tales. One of those stories was about one of the girls finding true love and running away from home. It took me a long time to realize that the stories were actually about my mother, her twin sister, and their best friend, because my mother and my aunt have lived in Massachusetts since long before I was born.”

A chill caresses over my spine and Madge shrugs. “Anyways, so now my Aunt Maysilee is here in Korea to watch me ski, but while we’re here, she’s asked me for a favor, and I’m not sure I can deliver. It kind of depends on you.”

“What’s she want?” I whisper, but I think I already know.

“She wants to meet the daughters of her childhood best friend, Lillian Brookes.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. I’m just so tired and life has been such a whirlwind the past few weeks, months, that I laugh. But the best part is that Madge flops on the bed next to me and then we’re both laughing. I don’t know what happened that made them all lose touch. It seems impossible that our mothers’ pasts would be so entwined and we had no idea until that article, but here we are.

I need a nap.

Madge seems to sense this because we talk quietly and match up loose ends from three different tellings of the tale. We’re both drowsy so it doesn’t last long. Eventually, I wake up to Bristel shouting that it’s time for the pageantry.

“How long did we sleep?”

“Not long enough,” I groan and Madge slides off the bed, collapsing in a heap on the floor with a yelp.

“No injuries, Undersee!” Bristel yells.

“Ow,” says Madge and we both start laughing again.

“Get up and get showered,” Bonnie says, poking her head in the room. “It’s Coronation Day!”

“I said no _Frozen_ references!” Bristel says and Bonnie sticks her tongue out then bolts for the bathroom.

“What was that about?” I ask and Madge drags herself upright and sways on her feet.

“I have no idea, but I am still ripe from airports, I don’t know about you.” I duck my head and sniff. Madge laughs at the face I make and then it’s fast forward again. The four of us are a frenzy of getting showered and dressed, making sure our hair is dry all the way so none of us get sick in the cold night air.

“AH! I forgot my adapter! Can I borrow your hair dryer?”

“We should all braid our hair and match.”

“No time!”

“Has anyone seen my left boot? I swear I put it right here.”

“I can speed braid. It’s my weird talent. Thirty seconds tops!”

“Why do I have two left boots?”

“Hand-warmers! Everyone grab hand-warmers for your pockets! I left a pile on the table!”

“I did not consider thermal underwear when I was sized for these jeans.”

“Suck it in and zip! We gots to go!”

There are no text messages on my phone from either Prim or Peeta, updating me on their whereabouts. I can only assume it’s because they’re already on a plane. I’m in a daze until we’re ushered and separated by nation, waiting for the parade to begin as the show continues in the stadium. It’s a lot easier to ignore the cameras following me in this crowd. They’re all used to reporters following somebody so it doesn’t phase anyone. Besides, they only stick around for a little while before Cressida hands us what amounts to a GoPro and gives me a quick tutorial. Then she leaves with Mesalla to sit in the stands for the show. They can’t take the walk with me.

“Can you believe it?” Bristel says with excitement. “We’re finally here!”

“Glad to see you recovered from family shenanigans,” Bonnie says with a smile and Bristel groans. “Everyone else call their family already? Networks are gonna be impossible here soon if they aren’t already.”

“I regret asking my father to be here. He’s not getting a phone call,” Bristel mutters. I wonder if her aversion to _Frozen_ has something to do with her family but don’t get to ask.

“Who else has embarrassing family that we need to avoid?” Bonnie asks with a smile and a consoling rub of Bristel’s shoulders.

“My Aunt Maysilee is here,” Madge pipes up, but she’s smiling. “No need to avoid. She’s actually the one who got me started in skiing and she’s awesome.”

“Great! We’ll call her in a bit. My parents are a tad embarrassing but mostly cool,” Bonnie adds. “We already know that Bristel’s father is to be avoided as much as possible. How about—“

“Look out!” He yells right behind me, making me jump up and backwards, right into his trap. He lifts me bodily off the ground and Madge’s eyes go saucer wide as I kick and yell in an undignified manner.

“Ryen! Put me down so I can throttle you, asshole!”

“Aw, where’s your sense of fun, Katniss?” he asks but sets me down. “We’re at the Olympics!” He’s grinning and Graham is shaking his head. “Uh-oh...no sudden moves around these girls, Graham. They might get trigger happy.”

I roll my eyes and turn to make the introductions. “Madge Undersee, Bristel Flannigan, and Bonnie Ortiz, this would be the embarrassing branch of my sort of family that we’ll need to avoid if at all possible. Ryen and Graham Mellark.”

“Seriously?” Bristel asks with a strange laugh. She blushes and takes a good look at Ryen, but he, oddly enough, doesn’t even notice her. The boys wave in greeting and then Ryen immediately focuses on me again.

“Sort of family? I’m hurt,” Ryen sniffles comically and I roll my eyes at him.

“I’m sorry about my brother, ladies. We tried to house train him, but it didn’t stick,” Graham says.

For one second, I turn to nudge Peeta to back me up and say that both his brothers are dicks, only in his much more witty manner. But Peeta’s not here. At least not right here with us. When I glance back at Ryen, I know he saw my mistake. He knows, and he’s thinking the same thing. And so is Graham. It’s in the short flash of regret in their eyes that they both quickly hide.

One of us is missing. And it sucks.

I latch onto what Graham said to distract me from the sadness threatening to take over. Peeta wouldn’t want us to be sad right now.

“I mean, really you barely tried with him,” I say and cross my arms to glare at Ryen. “But some dogs are untrainable. Ryen, you and I are going to have a conversation later that’s gonna make you very uncomfortable.”

“Me?” He asks with wide eyed, feigned innocence.

“Yes, you. And when we do, you just remember that I can shoot out your nuts at 50 meters.”

He covers his crotch with both his hands and talks in a falsetto that makes the girls laugh. “What did I do?”

“It’s what you haven’t done,” I say and watch his expression carefully. He doesn’t give much away. At least not while the girls are hanging around still chatting.

The excitement of the night is catching. Complete strangers act like old friends. I watch as my two families strangely meld together. Ryen asks Madge to take a “family picture” of me with him and Graham. In exchange, he takes team pictures of the four of us with each of our phones. Madge calls her aunt and we all squeeze in to say ‘hi’ to her. I only get a brief glimpse of a lovely blonde gazing with clear affection at her niece, but it’s enough to convince me to meet her later. So Prim and I can maybe learn more about our mother when she was young.

It’s when the girls drift off a little, drawn into a conversation with the women’s curling team, that Ryen starts to fidget until I decide to take pity on him. Sort of. I get up in his face and focus intently to catch any lies or evasion in his eyes.

“What are your intentions towards my sister? Talk fast and remember that I can hit moving targets, too.”

Ryen’s face shifts to flicker with a small amount of trepidation, and he laughs nervously. “Well, what did she tell you? I’m sort of letting her drive this boat.”

“What? What’s this about Primrose?” Graham asks but I don’t look away from Ryen. I want him to earn it. To prove to me that I shouldn’t maim him now and save my baby sister the heartache later on.

“Are you gonna let her drive it into a shoal or are you going to tell her that you’re in love with her?”

“Wait what?” Graham asks before muttering that no one tells him anything.

I see the flash of it in Ryen’s eyes, just for a second before he manages to hide it behind his smirk. Oh my god. He’s in love with her. I was just guessing. Throwing it out there to test his reaction, but holy cow. Not that I think he shouldn’t love her. I mean, how could he not? How could anyone help but love Primrose?

“Well that depends,” he says and crosses his arms, mimicking my stance. “What are your intentions towards my brother? Am I gonna have to keep helping him patch his heart back together?”

“No that’s my job, and if I have any control over it, he won’t be needing those patches at all,” I say and Ryen’s lips twitch in the smallest of smiles. Then his phone rings in his pocket, making him jump and divert attention by checking it.

“Hey! Gramps wants to FaceTime!”

“We’re not done with this conversation,” I growl as he shoves the phone in my hands and grabs me around the neck with one arm and Graham around the neck with his other, smushing our bodies and faces close so all three of us will be on screen.

“I know it’s difficult to be anything but awestruck in my presence, but smile and try to look happy, Katniss.” I elbow him in the gut and he’s still making a face when I answer.

The image sways and blurs but finally settles on Gramps, smiling joyfully at us. Our greetings all overlap for a second until we finally just wait for him to speak first. It’s still a little difficult with the noise from the show.

“Ah! I am so proud of you all.”

“Hey Gramps! No crying!” Ryen says and Eirik chuckles, but there are definitely tears glistening in his eyes.

“Is that Daddy?”

“Yes! Yes! Come say hello! Quick before we are disconnected!” Eirik urges and moves his phone so that a gaggle of girls and a happy looking Savannah can greet Graham and blow kisses to him.

“Did you have any problems getting back from the airport?” Graham asks Savannah. The question makes no sense as she jams up close to Eirik on the screen.

“Not too many problems,” she says. “Extra luggage has arrived safely. Mostly.”

“Extra luggage?” Ryen asks but before anyone can answer, the screen blurs again as someone moves the phone and when it returns to focus, it’s Prim and Peeta.

“Oh my gosh!” I say and Ryen grabs the phone over my hand, basically shoving Graham out of the picture but he seems to understand. “You made it!” I shout and now I’m the misty eyed one as Peeta smiles at me.

“We did!”

“Gertrude pulled some serious magic,” Prim explains.

“She got me to Vancouver a day early, although it was a sprint to the airport after the races. Then she got us out of there on a couple of stand by seats through Tokyo first.”

“We have no idea where our luggage is, but we’re here!”

“I think the parade is about to start,” Haymitch interrupts on their end and Prim blows kisses at us.

“Love you! See you soon!” she says.

“Love you! Love you both!” I say it back. Ryen stands stiff and silent next to me.

The app disconnects and I cling to the feelings of happiness from seeing the faces of the two people I love most. Graham drifts off to talk to someone but Ryen doesn’t move from his place beside me. He shifts on his feet. His hand drops from mine, releasing our joint hold on his phone.

“Katniss,” he whispers. I can barely hear him over the noise from the the crowds around us. “You were right. I’m in love with your sister.”

I lean away from him and he lifts his gaze to meet mine. There’s fear in his eyes. So much fear, and I’ve never seen Ryen look afraid of anything. Brash and arrogant, yes, but afraid? Never. He almost can’t afford to know fear at all with what his events have always entailed. But there’s also a kind of certainty in his expression.

“Don’t tell Rosie.”

“No, I won’t,” I say. “You need to tell her.”

“She won’t believe me. It’s too soon. She deserves someone so much better than me… I...” He stutters and can’t seem to finish.

“You don't know that until you try,” I say, thinking of the things she yelled at me less than a week ago. The frantic look in her eyes. So like the one in his right now. Her whispered confessions in the night. The stories she told me over the phone.

I break our staring contest to bring up Ryen’s contacts on his phone and call Prim. Shove the phone back in his hands. “Now’s a good time.”

His face pales and he swallows, but he turns and holds the phone to his ear. I strain to hear the conversation. It’s almost impossible in this setting. I can tell he’s getting frustrated and am about to step closer to comfort him or something when there’s an announcement calling up one of the delegations to head out to the stadium and then sudden silence.

“I’m in love with you!”

His shout echoes. The people closest to us turn around and stare. Ryen turns beet red as a few of them snigger, but he focuses on the floor and ignores them all. He just announced it to the entirety of Team USA. Ryen Mellark is in love.

“I love you, Rosie. Think there’s still room on that door?”

My heart melts. Even though I don’t understand his question, I understand his tone. I turn away to give them at least some semblance of privacy.

It’s strange how things work out sometimes, and I watch the happy laughter and bright smiles of everyone around us. Each of these athletes had a mountain to climb to reach this point. They’ve spent their lives working to get here and now that it’s here, the joy and anticipation weaves thick through the cold air. Some of them have been here before, but Graham’s easy laughter and wide smile is proof that even a repeat appearance holds a special kind of thrill. Something precious and separate from our usual seasons.

Ryen whoops loudly right behind me then picks me up off the ground again. I squeal and kick, but he sets me down on my feet almost as fast as he picked me up.

“I take it she believes you?”

“Better than that! For some crazy reason, she loves me back!” I turn and watch him, grinning and working through disbelieving happiness. “Now what am I supposed to do? I’ve never been here before.”

“Oh the usual. Take care of each other, go out there and win that gold medal, don’t even look at another girl or I’ll use you for target practice and you’ll be thankful it’s me and not Haymitch getting revenge, make her cinnamon rolls.”

“Cinnamon rolls?...shit, you’re right. How the fuck am I supposed to make cinnamon rolls in Korea?”

I tap his phone and smirk. “Internet. Very helpful.”

He crushes me in a hug that forces all the air out of my lungs. I’m not given time to think about how I should react to this before he lets me go and types furiously on his phone, searching for ways to make cinnamon rolls in the Olympic Village, no doubt. I smile and wave at Madge, who’s looking a little confused and intrigued, half separated from the rest of our team. I wander over to her and she links our arms together.

“So what was that all about?” Madge asks and I chuckle.

“It’s a great story, but it looks like now is not the time for it,” I say and wave towards the coalescing crowd. Sure enough, that’s when they call for us.

We jam together as we shuffle out of the building where we’ve been waiting, through the night air and to the stadium. We manage to talk a little bit, but it’s scattered and disorganized. Excited and scared. My palms sweat and the girls group around us. Phones and cameras are dug from pockets and I crane my neck at the brightly lit stadium. Music pulses in the night, punctuated with names of nations and loud cheers. Somehow Ryen and Graham wind up behind us with a good portion of the US skiers. Through a tunnel and then we pause. I stand on my toes and catch just a glance of the American flag fluttering and then...

“Representing the United States of America.”

Almost as if on cue, everyone around us cheers, building up louder as we move forward in mass. Madge laughs and Ryen nudges me to get me to join in. The lights and colors nearly overwhelm me. My pulse pounds in my ears. It’s so surreal and as we take the walk, I find myself searching the stands. It’s too bright and the flashes from all directions make my search impossible. I have no idea where they are. It’s far easier to just lift my hand and wave. To hope that they can find us.

I forget that I’m carrying a camera until Ryen lifts it from my hand and jumps in front of us. The four of us link arms as he videos us. Bristel and Bonnie bounce to the beat of the music. More pictures are snapped when we finish our circuit and wait for those in front of us to take their seats to enjoy the rest of the show.

But really, it’s all about the big finish. The spiral of flames as they climb and then the pop as the cauldron bursts to life and loud cheers drown out everything else.

It’s over too soon, before I can even register anything but the pounding in my chest and my ears. The shaking in my hands. The breathless feeling of finally grasping hold of a dream. But that’s just it. It feels like a dream and I half expect to wake up from it and find myself alone in bed back in Colorado.

Only, when I do wake up much later, I’m in a vaguely familiar room, not my bedroom in Colorado. There are two coats draped over a nearby chair. Red white and blue, and although the patterns differ, both of them have the letters USA on them. Peeta’s arm around my waist holds me close to his body. His other arm stretches in front of me, my head resting on it like a pillow, and I can’t stop the smile. I close my eyes and hold myself perfectly still. Because if this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is once more time for a note to thank the lovely honeylime08 for turning this from half an idea into a full-fledged epic with a simple request: all three Mellark brothers competing in the Olympics. When she said that, I had a vague idea of writing a 10K oneshot with Katniss as a biathlon athlete and Peeta as a paralympic snowboarder, but sometimes, all it takes is a few words to set my brain off on a journey. In this case it was: “A gold medal to anyone who gives me freestyle skiing Rye.” To which I said, “What would the oldest compete in?” And then the answer, “nordic combined. Just like his grandfather in Innsbruck in 1964.”
> 
> Wee innocent lamb me thought I could do that fairly easily. Wrong! Haha.
> 
> In my vague initial researching, I found two things that intrigued me. First, that the US has never won an Olympic medal in winter biathlon, and usually doesn’t fare very well in that sport, which meant that if I made Katniss an American, she’d be competing in a field where she could potentially have a lot of pressure placed on her and the odds stacked against her. Second, the athlete who won gold in Innsbruck in the 1964 nordic combined was…wait for it...Norwegian, and had an interesting story.
> 
> His name was Tormod Knutsen and he was in fact an alternate for the 1956 games. He wound up competing when someone else was injured two days before the Olympics and could not compete. This paved the way for Knutsen to compete and to become the leading Norwegian competitor in nordic combined. He won Olympic silver in 1960 and gold in the 1964 Games. This is the inspiration forf Eirik’s backstory and it got me thinking...what if I pulled an opposites in terms of the expectations placed on Katniss and Peeta? She’s facing the pressure of being the first to do something, and he’s trying to live up to a legacy.
> 
> Next step was a bit of personal shenanigans. Some of you I’ve told this to already, but here we go! If I wanted to build a legacy, then I needed one of Peeta’s parents to be an Olympic caliber athlete as well. Enter Agnes. She kind of marched into my brain via my memories of my aunt, who was a highly ranked swimmer on track to go to the Olympics in the 70's, and how Knutsen’s story was actually a reverse of my aunt’s in a way. My aunt was injured and while she was supposedly cleared to compete, in the season leading up to the Games, the injury flared up and she didn’t perform well. She was named as an alternate instead and wound up not going. For the next few years, she got a little wild and reckless and wound up pregnant and married. It was not a happy marriage and they did eventually divorce. For a bunch of convoluted reasons that I don’t understand because no one tells me the same story twice, my aunt never returned to competition. When her two sons (my cousins) showed athletic promise, she placed some heavy expectations on them, pushed them to excel. They eventually quit their respective sports because she made it not enjoyable.
> 
> Once I got started with that, the rest of this just sort of...I don’t know...spiraled out of control? But there you go! All this mess from those few bits of inspiration.


End file.
